“Come in, Parlett. This is Inspector Poole, of Scotland Yard. He’s making some confidential enquiries about a member—Captain Wraile. I’ve heard all the facts of the case and decided that the club shall give Mr. Poole all the information it can; it’s really in Captain Wraile’s interest. Sit down, Parlett; now, Inspector, fire away.” Poole drew out his note-book. “You’ve got the Entry Book there, Mr. Parlett,” he said. “Can you tell me what time Captain Wraile entered the club on 24th October?” Parlett turned the pages. “5.45 p. m., sir. Colonel Croope came in at the same time.” “And left?” More pages turned. “7.40 p. m., sir.” “Do you know anything about him between those times?” Parlett looked blank. “It’s three weeks ago, sir. I’m afraid I . . .” “I’ll jog your memory; a foreign gentleman—a Mr. Lukescu—was to call on him that evening.” Parlett’s face at once brightened. “Oh, yes, sir; now I remember well; the gentleman was late—Captain Wraile was in a proper fuss about it. I’ve got the time Mr. Lukescu arrived in the Visitors’ Book, but I remember well enough—he was expected at 6.30 but he didn’t come and didn’t come—not until close on 7. One of the waiters came and told me that the gentleman was expected at 6.30; I made a note of it on my pad. He didn’t come, though, and Captain Wraile kept on popping down to see if he hadn’t come and been shown somewhere else.” It was Poole’s turn to look blank. “Do you mean to say that you saw Captain Wraile yourself between 6.30 and 7?” “Yes, sir—two or three times.” “You can’t say exactly what time? Could it have been before 6.45 that you saw him?” “I couldn’t say that I’m sure, sir. I only know that he came along at intervals to ask if his guest hadn’t come.” “And the waiter who told you about Mr. Lukescu coming—did he bring that as a message from Captain Wraile?” “That’s right, sir; came straight from him!” “At what time?” Parlett scratched his head. “Trying to think which one it was, sir; might have been Buntle or it might have been Gyne—most likely Gyne—he would have been on the smoking-room bell. Shall I send for him, sir?” “Find out first if he remembers the incident,” said Captain Voilance. “If not, try Buntle.” “I can’t try him, sir; he’s away today—burying a mother-in-law or something.” Poole groaned. “It’ll be him for certain, then,” he said. “Just a moment before you go, Parlett; could Captain Wraile have left the club without your seeing him—between those hours you’ve given me, I mean?” “Could have, sir; but most unlikely; either I or one of my assistants is in the box all the time—we could hardly have missed him—not at that time of day.” “No other door? Ladies’ annex, or anything?” The hall-porter snorted. “No, sir, there’s not. We leave ladies’ annexes to the Guards and the Carlton,” with which withering remark he set out in quest of Mr. Gyne. “Looks pretty water-tight so far, doesn’t it?” said Voilance.