Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux gave him a brilliant smile of recognition as she passed; then, seating herself at the next table, she took up the menu and studied it with a look of distaste on her features. Quite evidently the English breakfast was not much to her liking. After some consideration she gave her order to the waiter by pointing to the card, as if she mistrusted her pronunciation of some of the words. Sir Clinton obviously had no desire to discuss police affairs any further, with a possible eavesdropper at his elbow. He went on with his breakfast, and, as soon as Wendover had finished, he rose from the table with a glance at his wrist-watch. “We'd better pick up the inspector and get off to Lynden Sands. I'll bring the car round.” At the hotel door, a few minutes later, Armadale for some reason or other seemed to be in high spirits; but he gave no indication of the cause of his cheerfulness. A few minutes' run along the coast brought them to Lynden Sands village, and the inspector directed Sir Clinton to Sapcote's house. The constable was evidently on the look-out, for as they were about to knock at the door he appeared and invited them into a room where Billingford was sitting. At the first glance, Wendover was prejudiced against the man. Billingford had the air of someone trying to carry off an awkward situation by a forced jauntiness; and, in the circumstances, this jarred on Wendover. But, on reflection, he had to admit to himself that Billingford's position was an awkward one, and that an easy demeanour was hardly to be expected under these conditions. “Now, Mr. Billingford,” the inspector began at once, “I've one or two questions to ask you. First of all, why didn't you tell the constable immediately that Staveley was a friend of yours? You must have recognised him whenever you saw the body on the rock.” Billingford's surprise was either genuine or else must have been very well simulated. “Staveley, is it?” he exclaimed. “I didn't know it was Staveley! There was a cloud over the moon when I got to the body, and I couldn't see the face. It was quite dark then for a while—so dark that on the way there I splashed through a regular baby river on the beach. My trousers are all wet still round the boot-tops. Staveley, is it? Well, well!” Wendover could make nothing of the man. For all he could see, Billingford might be genuinely surprised to hear of Staveley's death. But, if he were, his emotion at the loss of a friend could hardly be called excessive. The inspector put his next question. “Did you know if Staveley had gone out to meet anyone last night?” Billingford's eyes contracted momentarily at this question. Wendover got the impression of a man on his guard, and thinking hard while he talked.