“But we’re getting away from the subject, Mr. Newton. You say this young lady has left your house by the mews, and you were about to suggest she left in the care of Miss—I don’t know what you call her. Why did she leave that way?” Leon Gonsalez had something more than an instinct for espionage: he had an instinct for truth, and he knew two things immediately: first, that Newton was not lying when he said the girl had left the house; secondly, that there was an excellent, but not necessarily a sinister, reason for the furtive departure. “Where has she gone?” “Home,” said the other laconically. “Where else should she go?” “She came to dinner . . . intending to stay the night?” “Look here, Gonsalez,” interrupted Monty Newton savagely. “You and your gang were wonderful people twenty years ago, but a lot has happened since then—and we don’t shiver at the name of the Three Just Men. I’m not a child—do you get that? And you’re not so very terrible at close range. If you want to complain to the police——” “Meadows is outside. I persuaded him to let me see you first,” said Leon, and Newton started. “Outside?” incredulously. In two strides he was at the window and had pulled aside the blind. On the other side of the street a man was standing on the edge of the sidewalk, intently surveying the gutter. He knew him at once. “Well, bring him in,” he said. “Where has this young lady gone? That is all I want to know.” “She has gone home, I tell you.” Leon went to the door and beckoned Meadows; they spoke together in low tones, and then Meadows entered the room and was greeted with a stiff nod from the owner of the house. “What’s the idea of this, Meadows—sending this bird to cross-examine me?” “This bird came on his own,” said Meadows coldly, “if you mean Mr. Gonsalez? I have no right to prevent any person from cross-examining you. Where is the young lady?” “I tell you she has gone home. If you don’t believe me, search the house—either of you.” He was not bluffing: Leon was sure of that. He turned to the detective. “I personally have no wish to trouble this gentleman any more.” He was leaving the room when, from over his shoulder: “That snake is busy again, Newton.” “What snake are you talking about?” “He killed a man to-night on the Thames Embankment. I hope it will not spoil Lisa Marthon’s evening.” Meadows, watching the man, saw him change colour. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said loudly. “You arranged with Lisa to pick up Barberton to-night and get him talking. And there she is, poor girl, all dressed to kill, and only a dead man to vamp—only a murdered man.” He turned suddenly, and his voice grew hard. “That is a good word, isn’t it, Newton—murder?” “I didn’t know anything about it.” As Newton’s hand came towards the bell: “We can show ourselves out,” said Leon.