“Send John to me,” he said to her sharply.
When Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson had been carried up to her bedroom, Stapleton took the footman into the dining-room and shut the door.
“Now, tell me,” he said, “who were the last to leave to-night?”
The young footman described them. Yes, he admitted that among them were the two guests, the man and the woman, who had been with Jessica while she drank champagne at the sideboard, but he did not know their names.
Stapleton’s brain worked rapidly while he mechanically undressed in his flat in Sandringham Mansions. There could be no doubt, in his opinion, that the hand that had drugged La Planta had also drugged Jessica. In addition, he felt convinced that whoever had done it had been among the guests at Cavendish Square that evening. But who could it have been, and with what object had he, or she, committed the despicable act?
After ascertaining by telephone next morning that both Archie and Jessica had recovered and were once more in their right senses, he drove in his car first to the Albany.
Archie, wrapped in an elaborate dressing-gown of Japanese corded silk, was having breakfast in his bedroom. He looked unusually pale, Stapleton thought directly he entered, and there were dark marks under his eyes.
“I wish you would tell me, Louie,” Archie said, “what happened to me last night, and how I managed to come away from the Alhambra without my hat. I might have imagined I had drunk too much—had there been anything to drink.”
“I can tell you nothing, because I know nothing,” Stapleton answered, and went on to explain how they had suddenly missed him from the box, and what had happened afterwards.
“Who was it brought the message for Jessica, and why did you leave the box without delivering it to her?” he ended.