“Will you give me his name and address?” Ellery paused for a moment, and then gave a nervous laugh. “Upon my word,” he said, “this is devilish awkward. I don’t know the chap’s address—I never have known it. All I do know is that he lives somewhere down the west end of Chelsea—not far from World’s End, I think he said.” “I dare say we can trace him,” said the inspector. “You had better tell me his profession as well as his name. Perhaps you know where he works.” “Good Lord, this is worse than ever,” said Ellery. “I can’t for the life of me remember what the fellow’s name is. It has slipped clean out of my memory.” Then, seeing a heightened look of surprise on the inspector’s face: “You see,” he added, “I hardly know him really. He’s only a casual acquaintance I’ve met a few times at the Club.” He paused and glanced at his visitor, in whose manner he was already conscious of a change. “Come, come, Mr. Ellery, surely you must be able to remember the man’s name. It’s not———” “I only wish I could. I almost had it then. It’s something like Forrest or Forrester or Foster, I’m nearly sure. But it isn’t any of those. I’m nearly certain it begins with an ‘F.’” “Isn’t it rather curious that you should have been walking about London for so long with a man you hardly know, and whose name even you can’t remember?” “It may be curious, inspector, and you may think I’m making it all up. I can see you’re inclined to think that. But what I’ve told is exactly what happened. I expect the name will come back to me soon—I have a way of just forgetting things like that every now and then.” “A most unfortunate way, if I may say so. I can only hope that your memory will soon come back. You realise, I suppose, that the consequences of your—lapse may be serious?” “Oh, nonsense, inspector. I don’t see anything so curious about it. I often get talking with chaps I don’t know from Adam; and I’m quite capable of forgetting the name of my dearest friend. What happened was that we were both walking home towards Chelsea, it was a beautifully fine night, and we got into an interesting conversation—about plays. I’m a playwright, you know, and I think he must be an actor. I mean, from the way he talked.” “Well, Mr. Ellery, I should advise you to make a strong effort to find that gentleman again, or to remember his name. No doubt it’s quite all right; but it will be best for you to have your _alibi_ confirmed.” Ellery saw that Inspector Gibbs was not quite sure whether to believe or disbelieve his story. After all, it did sound a bit fishy. It would be awkward, and quite fatal to his plans of acting as an amateur detective, if the police began seriously to suspect him of having had a hand in the murders. That would put a visit to Liskeard House—and to Joan—more than ever out of the question.