“I think, Mr. Brooklyn, that, unless you wish to find yourself in the dock on a criminal charge, you had far better do so.” For a moment it seemed as if Walter Brooklyn would make a personal attack on the detective, or at least turn him then and there out of the room. But he seemed to think better of it. “Ask your questions,” he said. “First, then, where did you call when you were out on Tuesday afternoon?” “I went first to see Mr. Carter Woodman—I presume you know who he is—at his office in Lincoln’s Inn. Then I took a taxi to the Piccadilly Theatre, where I saw that young hound, Prinsep, and one or two others.” “Who were the others?” “An actress-girl there—a Miss Lang. She was the only one.” “Did you see them separately or together?” “Separately.” “And then where did you go?” “Back to Mr. Woodman’s office. I told him I had lost the stick, and thought I must have left it there. He had a look, but it wasn’t there. He said I must have left it in the taxi, and I supposed I had.” “When did you notice the loss?” “On leaving the theatre.” “So you might have left the stick there, or in the taxi, or at Mr. Woodman’s?” “Yes. If you found it in Prinsep’s room, I suppose he must have found it in the theatre, and taken it up to his room.” “Why didn’t he give it back to you when he saw you later in the evening?” “Saw me later in the evening! He didn’t see me later in the evening.” “But you were at Liskeard House on Tuesday evening.” “Look here, young man. I don’t know what you’re driving at. I tell you I did not see Prinsep except in the afternoon.” “But you were at Liskeard House in the evening.” “I tell you I was not. Yes, by Jove, though, I was—in a sense. I went to the door and asked for Sir Vernon, but he was not at home.” “When was that?” “About ten o’clock, I suppose.” “And you did not go into the house _then_?” “No, only into the outer hall.” “That, Mr. Brooklyn, is not the occasion to which I was referring. You came back to Liskeard House still later on Tuesday evening.” Walter Brooklyn glared at the inspector. “Young man,” he said, “I will thank you not to tell me where I was. I know that for myself.” “You admit, then, that you came back to the house.” “I admit nothing of the sort. I was not in the house at all. I’ve told you already that I did not go there.” The inspector discharged his bombshell. “Then how did it occur that you rang up the Sanctum Club from Liskeard House at 11.30 on Tuesday evening?” This was too much for Walter Brooklyn. “Infernal impudence,” he said. “I don’t know where you picked up these cock-and-bull stories. I did not ring up the Sanctum from Liskeard House, because I was not there. And now I’ve had enough of your questions, and you can go.” And he strode to the door and held it open. “Get out,” he said.