“Well, the only person I saw, Charlie, was you yourself—leaving the house. That’s all.”
“Somebody who closely resembled me, I expect.”
“Then you deny having been at the house that evening?” asked Max in great surprise.
“Why, of course I do. You’re absolutely mistaken, old chap,” was Charlie’s response. “Of course, I can quite see how this must have puzzled you. But what now arises in my mind is whether someone has not endeavoured to personate me. It seems very much as though they have. You say that I left the house. When?”
“After the removal. You were in the empty house, which you left secretly.”
“And you were there also, then?” he asked.
“Of course. I called, ignorant that they had left.” Charlie Rolfe did not speak for several moments.
“Well,” he exclaimed at last, “it seems that somebody has been impersonating me. I certainly was not there.”
“Why should they impersonate you?”
“Who knows? Is there not mystery in the whole affair?”