“See it wet, see it dry. The man lives by himself. He’s been ill for five days. I got that from the porter of the flats. This porter told me that J.M. hasn’t been outside his front door for a week. The story’s right enough. You’ve only got to look at the chap to see he’s too ill to have been trotting about. There’s not a doubt. You disappointed?” “God, no! Hastings, my brother, I kiss your hands. And I congratulate you. From what I know, your explanation of why J.M. thought what he did is right. But tell me, how ill is he?” “Baddish, but by no means dying. Er—as a matter of fact, the doctor’s with him now. Severe flu, I think it is, plus old-standing shell-shock or something like that probably.” Lucia stirred uneasily in her chair. “Oh, the doctor’s with him, is he? Now, what doctor?” Anthony said. “Well—er—as a matter of fact—er”—bubbled the telephone in embarrassed accents—“I—we—have taken him back to my place. D’you know the man?” “I’m, well, interested in him.” “Well, he’s all right now, you know. You see, we—I felt rather sorry—fellow’s seedy and no one to look after him. We felt rather that we owed him something for false suspicion, what? Hope you don’t mind my taking charge.” “Mind? I’m very grateful! You’re an excellent man. But why the hesitancy, the embarrassment? Why all this we—I—us—we? I become aware of a rat.” “Because I’ve done it!” roared the telephone ecstatically. “I’ve asked her. I’m going to be married. She——” “One moment. Miss Warren, I gather?” “Yes!” cried the telephone. “Congratulate me!” “I pound your spirit on the back. Tell Miss Warren this is the only mistake I’ve ever known her to make. I’ll offer my felicitations in person to-morrow. Now, listen.” “Right.” “I want you,” said Anthony, “to come down here—you’ll find it best to do it by car—to-morrow and attend the inquest. It’s being held at the house—Abbotshall—and it begins at eleven o’clock in the morning. If you bring Miss Warren with you, please ask her whether she will take a complete shorthand note of the proceedings. If she can’t come, get an ordinary shorthand person. I’d rather she did it, of course. After the inquest go to the Bear and Key in Marling and ask for me. I shall want to pump you. Got that?” “Very good, sergeant.” “If you see me at the house during the inquest don’t speak to me or do anything to attract attention to me. Got it?” “Yes.” “Right. Good-bye, and again congratulations.” Anthony hung up the receiver. He turned to Lucia. She lay limply in the chair. After the first wild surge of relief had come reaction. The spare receiver had fallen from her hand. Her breast heaved as if she fought for breath. Anthony poured whisky into a tumbler; added a little soda-water. He forced the glass into her hand. “Drink that,” he said. Obediently, like a child, she drank, looking up at him over the rim of the glass. When she had finished, “Feeling better?” he asked.