‘Lord lumme!’ he stammered, ‘is that a fact?’ ‘That’s a fact,’ Tanner went on sharply, ‘and I want some information from you. And let me advise you to give it to me correctly, for if you don’t you may find yourself in the Old Bailey charged as an accessory after the fact.’ The man blenched, and Tanner felt that the estimate he had made of his character was correct. ‘I don’t know nothing about it,’ he growled sulkily. ‘Oh yes, you do. Mr Ponson told me he spent that Wednesday night here, or a part of it anyway. Is that true?’ Tanner had set his little trap to learn whether the butler had been primed with a story by Cosgrove. His victim did not answer for a time. Clearly a struggle was going on in his mind. Then at last he said, ‘Has Mr Cosgrove been arrested?’ The question still further bore out the estimate Tanner had made of the man’s character. The Inspector could follow the thought which had prompted it. If the butler was to continue uninterruptedly in his master’s service, he would rather not have the latter know he had given him away, but if Cosgrove was already in custody he would keep on the safe side and tell the truth. Tanner did not assist him to a conclusion. ‘Never you mind that. You concentrate on avoiding arrest yourself. Now, will you answer my question?’ After some further urging the statement came. Cosgrove had not spent the evening in his rooms. He had left about 6.45 to catch the 7.15 at King’s Cross, but he had returned unexpectedly in about an hour. He told the butler he had missed his train, and was travelling by a later one. He had gone out again, almost at once, and the butler had not seen him for two days. Tanner asked several searching questions, and ended up completely satisfied that the man was telling the truth. There was no doubt whatever that Cosgrove’s story was true in this particular also. There now remained to be checked only the matter of his visit to the Follies, and though Tanner was not certain of the necessity for this, his habit of thoroughness again asserted itself, and he drove to the theatre. There he learnt that there was no rehearsal that forenoon, and he went straight on to Chelsea. His ring at the actress’s flat was answered by a smartly dressed maid, to whom he handed his card, asking for an interview with her mistress. The girl disappeared and in a few moments returned. ‘Miss Belcher will see you now, sir.’ He was ushered into a small drawing-room, charmingly furnished in pale blue, with white enamelled woodwork. The chairs were deep and luxurious though elegant, the walls panelled with silk and bearing a few good monochrome drawings, while on the dark polished floor were thick and, as the Inspector knew, costly rugs. But though everything in the room was dainty, its outstanding feature was its roses. Roses were everywhere, massed in great silver bowls and rare old cut-glass vases.