“Please be quiet, Mr. Rice,” admonished Perutkin. “This is a mere formality. It may have been an oversight on your part. Mr. Jenkins, tell us what Mr. Rice said to Mrs. Breese.” “Well, as I explained to you,” began the young man, “I was in the next booth, trying to call my mother. We have two booths at the Ministry. I was waiting for my number. I heard Mr. Rice talking--I couldn’t help hearing--and I thought the conversation so peculiar that I remembered it.” The young man stammered in his earnestness. “I didn’t hear anything about--about a check. I heard Mr. Rice say: ‘Hello, Dora. How are you?’ And then: ‘That lecture on companionate marriage. It’s starting now. Are you alone?’ And then she said something. And he said: ‘You’ll find it interesting.’ Then he said: ‘Sixty.’ Just the number--‘sixty’.” “So!” said the Russian. “A lecture on companionate marriage. Starting now. Sixty.” “Yes, sir.” Rice stared at the clerk. “I did forget that!” he exclaimed. “I suppose it was so trivial it just slipped my mind. Mrs. Breese was interested in companionate marriage and the Minister happened to mention that some silly woman or other was lecturing on it for the Woman’s Club, which, if I remember, is at Malecon 60. I must have repeated this information to Mrs. Breese.” “So!” said the Russian. “It is always advisable to check up on every little detail, no matter how trivial. Mrs. Breese asked you where on the Malecon was the Woman’s Club. And you said ‘Sixty’.” “Exactly,” confirmed Rice. “When did you say you telephoned Mrs. Breese? At about nine-thirty?” “Yes. Around nine-thirty.” “Lectures usually start at eight-thirty. It would take her at least half an hour to get to the Malecon from her home, assuming that she started right out, which a woman would not be likely to do. Didn’t it occur to you that the lecture would be over by the time she got there?” Rice shook his head. “Frankly, I didn’t think of it. I didn’t give the matter sufficient attention. I just thought I’d pass the information on.” “So that the strange conversation that Mr. Jenkins overheard was nothing more than a piece of stray news that you were relaying to Mrs. Breese for no purpose whatsoever?” “If you want to take it that way,” said Rice. “Yes. Honestly, I don’t see what you’re driving at.” I could see from Smith’s expression that the detective agreed with him. But Perutkin was inexorable. “Let us continue,” he said sharply. “I want to ask you a question.” “By all means,” Rice invited, smiling tolerantly. “Are you a wealthy man, Mr. Rice?” “Well,” Rice hesitated. “I wouldn’t say that.” The Russian swung at the elder Breese. “You, Mr. Breese, know the extent of Mr. Rice’s finances. He has always been more or less in your employ. Would you call him a wealthy man?” “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave that to Mr. Rice,” Breese replied. “I don’t see what his wealth has to do with the murder of my wife.”