“I tell you—already I tell you,” he muttered, “that Mr. De Lana he engage this room every Wednesday and sometimes also Friday, and dine here by himself.”
“And I tell you,” said Harley sweetly, “that you are an inspired liar. You smuggled her out by the side entrance after the accident.”
“The side entrance?” muttered Meyer. “The side entrance?”
“Exactly; the side entrance. There is something else which I must ask you to tell me. Who had engaged this room on Tuesday night, the night before the accident?”
The proprietor's expression remained uncomprehending, and:
“A gentleman,” he said. “I never see him before.”
“Another solitary diner?” suggested Harley.
“Yes, he is alone all the evening waiting for a friend who does not arrive.”
“Ah,” mused Harley—“alone all the evening, was he? And his friend disappointed him. May I suggest that he was a dark man? Gray at the temples, having a dark beard and moustache, and a very tanned face? His eyes slanted slightly upward?”
“Yes! yes!” cried Meyer, and his astonishment was patently unfeigned. “It is a friend of yours?”