“Two things, sir. In the first place, I want any information you can give me about either of the two gentlemen you mentioned or anything which might throw light on the tragedy. Secondly, I would be obliged if you would answer the purely formal question that we inspectors have to ask all who were in any way connected with the victim of such a tragedy. Where were you yourself at the time of the occurrence?” The colonel raised his eyebrows. “Do you suspect me of murdering Mr. Pyke?” he asked, drily. “I think, sir, you needn’t take up that line.” French’s tone was also a trifle dry. “I have explained that my question is a formal one, invariably put. You are not bound to answer it unless you wish.” “If I don’t you will suspect me in reality, so I don’t see that I have much option. I was here, in this room.” “Between what hours?” “During the whole evening. I finished dinner about eight or a quarter past. Then I came in here and stayed here until I went to bed between one and two.” “And no one came in during that time?” “No one came in. I take nothing after dinner except a little whisky going to bed, and I have everything I want in the cupboard there. I’m writing a book at present and I don’t like to be disturbed in the evenings.” “Then in the face of what you’ve said I presume I needn’t ask you if you heard any sound at the door or windows?” “You need not.” “And—excuse this question—you didn’t sleep at all during the evening? No one could have knocked while you were asleep?” The Colonel smiled slightly. “Ingenious,” he remarked, “but unproductive. No, I didn’t sleep at all.” “Thank you,” said French, “that disposes of one question. Now the other. Can you tell me anything likely to be helpful to me about either of the two gentlemen?” The colonel regretted that in this case also he could do nothing to oblige. He would answer Mr. French’s questions so far as he could, but he had nothing to volunteer. And French found that after half an hour’s interrogation he had learnt just nothing whatever. “There is one other matter to which I must refer,” he said. “I regret the necessity, as it’s somewhat delicate. Common report says that Mrs. Berlyn was on very intimate terms first with Mr. Pyke and then with yourself. Would you tell me how far that is true?” The colonel squared his shoulders again and French presently saw that it was an unconscious nervous trick. “Is it really necessary that Mrs. Berlyn’s name should be dragged in?” he asked, stiffly. “I’m afraid so. You will recognise that I am trying to find motives.” “I don’t think you will find one there.” “On the contrary, Colonel Domlio, I have evidence that Mr. Berlyn was acutely jealous.” But the colonel was not to be drawn. “That is news to me,” he declared. “Well,” said French, doggedly, “I should like to have your definite statement as to whether such jealousy would or would not have been justified, in so far, at all events, as you yourself were concerned.”