“I was playing bridge with my wife and friends at home, Miss Leslie had gone on to some friends, and the bus was in my garage. I fetched Miss Leslie, who is an old school-friend of my wife's, at two o'clock from the Columbine, as you say they told you at the theatre, and drove her home to Richmond. We had intended to go on the river, but my wife refused to go out in the launch on account of the look of the sky, and suggested bridge instead. Miss Leslie didn't seem to care for cards, and decided to taxi on to some friends. So we put her into a cab—she refused to let us take her in the car—and off she went about a quarter to three. And as I haven't seen her since, she couldn't have been with me at four-thirty near any park.” Mr. Deane tapped his teeth reflectively. “Um—m. I'm afraid—my client claims pretty heavy damages—his car's a wreck, though he says that the one which ran into him was barely dented. And about Miss Leslie—I understood that Miss Leslie said she was with you and your wife all afternoon. I think there's some mistake—I think there is.” The major began to show signs of distress. He dropped a sandwich, but Mr. Deane foiled that time-honoured device to gain time by instantly bringing his foot down on it with a vigour surprising in one of his deliberate movements. The major cast one sulky glance on the savoury morsel adhering to his visitor's boot, and gulped down a word or two. He took up the last sandwich, but after a glance at Mr. Deane's general attitude of “ready,” sat munching it with a thoroughness which would have moved the late Mr. Fletcher himself to admiration. “Well, sir?” asked Mr. Deane tartly. The major chewed on in silence. Finally there was no help for it; he had to swallow the last crumb, but no shipwrecked sailor could have done so more lingeringly. “Well, of course, if Miss Leslie said so—of course she was. I suppose I've got it muddled. As a matter of fact—now I think of it—of course we all played bridge all afternoon.” “_All_ afternoon?” repeated Mr. Deane, as though unable to believe his ears. “No, no, no!” corrected the hapless major, “just till about—about—oh, hang it all, I never notice time when I am at cards. But as a matter of fact, I believe we left off quite early—that is, relatively, you know. Every's relative nowadays, thanks to old Einstein—what?” Mr. Deane sat awhile in silence. The two were quite alone on the balcony. He decided that the time had come for him to make way for the Chief Inspector. It was a pity, for Mr. Deane had thoroughly enjoyed himself. When he spoke, his voice had changed totally. “I have something I would like to say to you, sir. Would you mind walking out on to the links with me?” The major gave him a penetrating glance. “Certainly. Come this way.” They strolled off into utter silence and safety from eavesdropping. “C.I.D. man, eh?” asked the soldier. “Anything wrong at the Office?”