“I believe that is the nickname by which she is, perhaps, even better known. I met her at ‘Rest Harrow’ the other day, when we were first investigating the circumstances of Miss Delaney’s death. She told rather an extraordinary story. I should like your considered opinion on it. She states that about a month ago an Indian called upon Miss Delaney, at her home in Tranfield—calling himself Lal Singh. He asked for Colonel Delaney and informed her that he was the Colonel’s old servant. He was unaware of the Colonel’s death. Or said he was—that possibly is a more accurate version!” “What?” roared Sir Matthew. “Lal Singh here in Westhamptonshire. That tale won’t hold water. It’s incredible—it’s amazing——” He spluttered in his attempt to find suitable words to express his rejection. “I can take it then,” intervened Anthony, “that Lal Singh did not extend his visit to you?” “To me? Good gracious, Mr. Bathurst—of course not! Lal Singh indeed! I haven’t set eyes on Lal Singh for over thirty years, as I told you. What on earth gives you that extraordinary idea?” “‘Pinkie’ Kerr is under the impression that he announced to Miss Delaney his intention of so doing,” said Anthony, gravely. “Good God, sir—you astound me—dear, dear—dear, dear!” It was obvious that Sir Matthew was extremely perturbed. “He certainly _inquired_ after you,” proceeded Anthony, “and also after the late Major Desmond Carruthers.” “Well—I’m damned—I suppose there’s no possible doubt about this rigmarole, Mr. Bathurst? You’re sure in your own mind that ‘Pinkie’ Kerr isn’t giving way to a little romancing?” “Her evidence is entirely uncorroborated—obviously—her mistress is dead—Lal Singh has disappeared. At the same time——” He paused. “Well?” demanded Sir Matthew vehemently. “What?” “It would be a remarkable story for her to _invent_,” said Mr. Bathurst with a shrug of the shoulders. “Don’t you think so?” “Let me come to the point, then. What do you make of it?” “That we are in very deep waters, Sir Matthew! Sheila Delaney has been the victim of one of the most cunning and cold-blooded crimes of the century and it’s going to take me all my time to bring her assassin to justice. There’s a big difference between suspecting a man and proving his guilt. There’s a big difference, also, between _knowing_ a man’s guilt and _proving_ it.” Sir Matthew glared at him—his cold blue eyes full of purpose. But Mr. Bathurst gave him back an equally unwavering stare. “I quite appreciate what you say,” said the old man eventually; “I appreciate it to the full.” “By the way, Sir Matthew, there is one more point before I go. Perhaps you would be good enough to enlighten me? Can you remember the Westhampton Hunt Ball—a year ago last February?” “Certainly I can. I was present—naturally.”