“Did you notice,” Roger remarked casually, addressing himself to Jefferson, “when the inspector was questioning us this morning, how very difficult it is to remember the things that have occurred, even only twenty-four hours before, if they were not sufficiently important to impress one in any way?” “Yes, I know what you mean,” Jefferson agreed. “Noticed it often myself.” Roger glanced at him curiously. It was a strange position, this sort of armed and forced friendliness between Jefferson and himself. If the former had heard much of that conversation by the lattice window, he must know Roger for his enemy; and in any case the disappearance of the footprint showed that he was thoroughly on his guard. Yet not the faintest trace of this appeared in his manner. He behaved towards both of them exactly as he always had done; no more and no less. Roger could not help admiring the man’s nerve. “Especially as regards movements,” he resumed conversationally. “I often have the very greatest trouble in remembering exactly where I was at a certain time. Last night wasn’t so difficult, because I was in the garden from the end of dinner till I went up to bed. But take your case, for instance, Lady Stanworth. I’m prepared to bet quite a reasonable sum that you couldn’t say, without stopping to think, exactly what rooms you visited yesterday evening between the end of dinner and going up to bed.” Out of the tail of his eye Roger noticed a quick look flash between Lady Stanworth and Jefferson. It was as if the latter had warned her of the possibility of a trap. “Then I am afraid you would lose your bet, Mr. Sheringham,” she replied calmly, after a momentary pause. “I remember perfectly. From the dining room I went into the drawing room, where I sat for about half an hour. Then I went into the morning room to discuss certain of the accounts with Major Jefferson, and after that I went upstairs.” “Oh, that’s altogether too easy,” Roger laughed. “It’s not playing fair. You ought to have visited far more rooms than that to make the game a success. What about you, then, Mrs. Plant? Shall I transfer the bet to you?” “You’d lose again if you did,” Mrs. Plant smiled. “I was only in one room, worse still. I stayed in the drawing room the whole time till I met you in the hall on my way upstairs. There! What was the bet, by the way?” “I shall have to think of that. A handkerchief, I think, don’t you? Yes, I owe you a handkerchief.” “What a poor little bet!” Mrs. Plant laughed. “I wouldn’t have taken it if I’d known it was going to be so unremunerative.” “Well, I’ll throw in a bottle of scent to go with it, shall I?” “That would be better, certainly.” “Better stop there, Sheringham,” Jefferson put in. “She’ll have got on to gloves before you know where you are.” “Oh, I’m drawing the line at scent. What’s your favourite brand, by the way, Mrs. Plant?” “_Amour des Fleurs_,” Mrs. Plant replied promptly. “A guinea a bottle!”