“And now to view the body,” he said briskly. “But I’ll tell you this—on the whole it’s always best to tell the truth. One lie involves you in such a lot of lies—and continuous lying is so monotonous.” “Then you advise me to ring up the police?” “Probably. But we’ll just have a look at the fellow first.” Virginia led the way out the room. On the threshold she paused, looking back at him. “By the way,” she said, “you haven’t told me your name yet?” “My name? My name’s Anthony Cade.” 9 Anthony Disposes of a Body Anthony followed Virginia out of the room, smiling a little to himself. Events had taken quite an unexpected turn. But as he bent over the figure in the chair he grew grave again. “He’s still warm,” he said sharply. “He was killed less than half an hour ago.” “Just before I came in?” “Exactly.” He stood upright, drawing his brows together in a frown. Then he asked a question of which Virginia did not at once see the drift: “Your maid’s not been in this room, of course?” “No.” “Does she know that you’ve been into it?” “Why—yes. I came to the door to speak to her.” “After you’d found the body.” “Yes.” “And you said nothing?” “Would it have been better if I had? I thought she would go into hysterics—she’s French, you know, and easily upset—I wanted to think over the best thing to do.” Anthony nodded, but did not speak. “You think it a pity, I can see?” “Well, it was rather unfortunate, Mrs. Revel. If you and the maid had discovered the body together, immediately on your return, it would have simplified matters very much. The man would then definitely have been shot _before_ your return to the house.” “Whilst now they might say he was shot _after_—I see—” He watched her taking in the idea, and was confirmed in his first impression of her formed when she had spoken to him on the steps outside. Besides beauty, she possessed courage and brains. Virginia was so engrossed in the puzzle presented to her that it did not occur to her to wonder at this strange man’s ready use of her name. “Why didn’t Élise hear the shot, I wonder?” she murmured. Anthony pointed to the open window, as a loud backfire came from a passing car. “There you are. London’s not the place to notice a pistol shot.” Virginia turned with a little shudder to the body in the chair. “He looks like an Italian,” she remarked curiously. “He is an Italian,” said Anthony. “I should say that his regular profession was that of a waiter. He only did blackmailing in his spare time. His name might very possibly be Giuseppe.” “Good heavens!” cried Virginia. “Is this Sherlock Holmes?” “No,” said Anthony regretfully. “I’m afraid it’s just plain or garden cheating. I’ll tell you all about it presently. Now you say this man showed you some letters and asked you for money. Did you give him any?” “Yes, I did.” “How much?” “Forty pounds.” “That’s bad,” said Anthony, but without manifesting any undue surprise. “Now let’s have a look at the telegram.”