Harley paused, his hand on the door knob, and turned. “The point is this,” continued the Inspector, frowning portentously and lowering his chin so that it almost disappeared into the folds of his neck, “I have now interviewed all the inmates of Cray’s Folly except the ladies. It appears to me that four people had not gone to bed. There are you two gentlemen, who have explained why I found you in evening dress, Colonel Menendez, who can never explain, and there is one other.” He paused, looking from Harley to myself. It had come, the question which I had dreaded, the question which I had been asking myself ever since I had seen Val Beverley kneeling in the corridor, dressed as she had been when we had parted for the night. “I refer to Miss Val Beverley,” the police-court voice proceeded. “This lady had evidently not retired, and neither, it would appear, had the Colonel.” “Neither had I,” murmured Harley, “and neither had Mr. Knox.” “Your reason I understand,” said the Inspector, “or at least your explanation is a possible one. But if the party broke up, as you say it did, somewhere about half-past ten o’clock, and if Madame de Stämer had gone to bed, why should Miss Beverley have remained up?” He paused significantly. “As well as Colonel Menendez?” he added. “Look here, Inspector Aylesbury,” I interrupted, I speaking in a very quiet tone, I remember, “your insinuations annoy me.” “Oh,” said he, turning his prominent eyes in my direction, “I see. They annoy you? If they annoy you, sir, perhaps you can explain this point which is puzzling me?” “I cannot explain it, but doubtless Miss Beverley can do so when you ask her.” “I should like to have asked her now, and I can’t make out why she refuses to see me.” “She has not refused to see you,” replied Harley, smoothly. “She is probably unaware of the fact that you wish to see her.” “I don’t know so much,” muttered the Inspector. “In my opinion I am being deliberately baffled on all sides. You can throw no light on this matter, then?” “None,” I answered, shortly, and Paul Harley shook his head. “But you must remember, Inspector,” he explained, “that the entire household was in a state of unrest.” “In other words, everybody was waiting for this very thing to happen?” “Consciously, or subconsciously, everybody was.” “What do you mean by consciously or subconsciously?” “I mean that those of us who were aware of the previous attempts on the life of the Colonel apprehended this danger. And I believe that something of this apprehension had extended even to the servants.” “Oh, to the servants? Now, I have seen all the servants, except the chef, who lives at a house on the outskirts of Mid-Hatton, as you may know. Can you give me any information about this man?” “I have seen him,” replied Harley, “and have congratulated him upon his culinary art. His name, I believe, is Deronne. He is a Spaniard, and a little fat man. Quite an amiable creature,” he added.