"Perjury—like joy—cometh in the morning," I observed.
"That is as may be. I happen to know that Miss Davenant is seriously ill; I imagine, wherever she has gone, she has not gone far. The number of houses within easy reach of Chester Square—houses that would take her in when there's a warrant out for her arrest—is limited. These considerations lead me to believe that the statement of these men is not perjured."
"I will apologise when next we meet," I said. When a young man like Nigel becomes stilted and dignified, I cannot repress a natural inclination to flippancy.
Philip intervened before Nigel could mature a crushing repartee.
"Look here, Seraph," he began. "Just as a favour, and not because we have any right to ask, will you say whether Miss Davenant's anywhere in this flat? If you say she is, I'm afraid we shall have to tell the police; if you say she isn't, we'll go away and not bother you any more."
"You must speak for yourself," Nigel interposed, before the Seraph could answer.
We sat for a moment in silence. Then Nigel continued his statement with unmistakable menace in his tone.
"If once the police intervene, the question becomes more serious and involves any one found harbouring a person for whom a warrant of arrest has been issued. I naturally do not wish to go to extremes." He turned to me: "You offered to show the detectives round these rooms last night; will you make me the same offer?"
I pointed to the Seraph.
"They aren't my rooms. I'm only a guest. I took it upon myself to make the offer in the Seraph's absence."