"Very little," Watson replied. "He told us he had no relations, and he received very few letters, which seemed to be from agents and business people. I did not question him very closely when he applied to me. I judged that he was down on his luck, but he fitted my requirements, and my wife was favorably impressed with him." "And you have no reason to regret taking him into your company?" "On the contrary, he proved a great acquisition, a far better man than the one whose place he took." "That is not quite what I meant," said Quarles. "Companies of entertainers vary, not only in ability, but in individual tastes, in personnel. By engaging Mr. Henley you were obliged to admit him into your private circle, and I imagine--" "That is what I meant by saying my wife approved of him," said Watson. "I wouldn't engage the finest tenor in the world unless he were a decent fellow. It wouldn't be fair to the rest of us." Quarles nodded his appreciation of such an attitude. "Of course, as long as he behaves decently I am satisfied," Watson went on. "I don't make my enquiries too particular. For instance, I shouldn't bar a man because he had got into trouble." "Have you any reason to suppose that Henley had done so?" Quarles asked. "That might account for his mysterious death." "I have no such suspicion," Watson answered; "indeed, he was not that kind of man. It is my way--my clumsy way of explaining what I mean by decent. Many a decent man has seen the inside of a prison. By being there he pays his debt, and afterwards, in common justice, he should be free, really free, free from his fellow-man's contempt." "You have started my husband on his pet hobby," laughed Mrs. Watson. "He always declares that our prisons hold some of the best men in the world." "Some of the strongest and most potential," corrected her husband. "I am inclined to agree with him," said Quarles. "But I am taking up your time and not asking the one or two questions I came especially to ask. You dress for the performance in the tent, I suppose?" "The men do. The ladies dress here and go down with cloaks over their costumes." Quarles undid a small brown paper parcel--I had wondered what he had brought with him--and produced the pierrot's hat. "That is Henley's, I suppose?" Watson looked at it. "Undoubtedly. There is an 'H' in it, you see. We all put our initial in like that so that we should know our own." "Now, can you suggest why Henley was wearing his dress?" asked Quarles. "That has puzzled us all," Watson answered. "I am inclined to think the doctor is wrong as regards the time he had been dead. The last we saw of Henley was when we left the tent that night. He was not coming back with us, he was going straight to the station. He was a long time changing, and I told him he would have to hurry to catch his train." "Is there such a late train up?" "Only during the summer." "And none of you went down to the tent until the evening of the next day?"