“Yes; the next time was when dinner was ready—about eight. He wasn’t here, and I thought it so strange—I—telephoned——” “Yourself?” asked Prescott, quickly, scenting unexpected information. “No—I—I asked one of the guests to do it.” “Which one?” “Me.” Pollard smiled at Phyllis. “Miss Lindsay asked me to telephone to Mr Gleason, and I did, but no one answered the call.” The speaker turned his calm eyes to Prescott, and met the detective’s suspicious gaze. “You’re sure you called, Mr Pollard,” Prescott asked, his tone plainly indicating his own doubt. “I have said so,” Pollard replied, and let his own glance wander indifferently aside. “Well, I don’t believe you!” Prescott was angered at Pollard’s quite evident lack of interest in his inquiries, and he now spoke sharply. “I believe, Mr Pollard, that you know more than you have told regarding this matter, and unless you see fit to become more communicative, I shall have to resort to outside inquiry as to your own movements this evening, prior to your arrival here.” “That is your privilege,” Pollard said, with an exaggerated politeness. “It is my duty also,” Prescott retorted, “and I shall begin right now. You say you left Mr Pollard on Fifth Avenue, Mr Barry?” “Yes,” was the reply. “At what time?” “About six o’clock.” “It was ten minutes past,” Pollard volunteered, still with the air of superior knowledge that exasperated Prescott almost beyond bounds. “Did any one present see Mr Pollard between that time and his arrival here for dinner?” Prescott looked about the room. No one responded, and the detective said, curtly: “Where do you live, Mr Pollard?” “At the Hotel Crosby, Fortieth Street, near Fifth Avenue,” and this time Pollard gave his questioner one of his best smiles, which had the effect of embarrassing him greatly. But with determination, he took up the telephone and called the hotel. “Ask for the doorman,” said Pollard, helpfully. Prescott did, and learned that Mr Pollard was out. “Had he been in?” “Yes, he had come in soon after six o’clock, and had left again, later, in a taxicab.” Nothing more definite could be learned, and Prescott hung up the receiver, conscious only of a great desire to get down to the hotel and ask questions before Pollard could get there himself. But first, he must look into other matters, and he turned his attention to the guests who sat round, all looking decidedly uncomfortable and some very much scared.