“Le Hagen—the solicitor, you know. He acted for this Malpas woman on one or two occasions.” “When did she die?” “Six or seven months ago ...” “Did Jeekes know about it?” “Jeekes? Do you mean Parrish’s secretary? “It’s funny your asking that. As a matter of fact, it was through Jeekes that I heard the lady was dead. I was in Le Hagen’s office one day when Jeekes came in, and Le Hagen told me Jeekes had come to pay in a cheque for the cost of the funeral and the transport of the body to France.” “This was six or seven months ago, you say? I take it, then, that any allowance that Parrish was in the habit of making to this woman has ceased?” “I tell you the lady is dead!” “Then what would you say if I informed you that Mr. Jeekes had declared that these payments were still going on ...” Robin shrugged his shoulders. “I should say he was lying ...” “I agree. But why?” “Whom did he tell this to?” “Miss Trevert!” “Miss Trevert?” Robin repeated the name in amazement. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why on earth should Jeekes blacken his employer’s character to Miss Trevert? What conceivable motive could he have had? Did she tell you this?” “No,” said Manderton; “I heard him tell her myself.” “Do you mean to tell me,” protested Robin, growing more and more puzzled, “that Jeekes told Miss Trevert this offensive and deliberate lie in your presence!” “Well,” remarked Mr. Manderton slowly, “I don’t know about his saying this in my presence exactly. But I heard him tell her for all that. Walls have ears, you know—particularly if the door is ajar!” He looked shrewdly at Robin, then dropped his eyes to the floor. “He also told her that Le Hagen and you were in business relations ...” Robin sat up at this. “Ah!” he said shortly. “I see what you’re getting at now. Our friend has been trying to set Miss Trevert against me, eh? But why? I don’t even know this man Jeekes except to have nodded ‘Good-morning’ to him a few times. Why on earth should he of all men go out of his way to slander me to Miss Trevert, to throw suspicion ...” He broke off short and looked at the detective. Mr. Manderton caressed his big black moustache. “Yes,” he repeated suavely, “you were saying ‘to cast suspicion’ ...” The eyes of the two men met. Then the detective leaned back in his chair and, blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips, said: “Mr. Greve, you’ve been thinking ahead of me on this case. What you’ve told me so far I’ve checked. And you’re right. Dead right. And since you’re, in a manner of speaking, one of the parties interested in getting things cleared up, I’d like you to tell me just simply what idea you’ve formed about it ...” “Gladly,” answered the barrister. “And to start with let me tell you that the case stinks of blackmail ...”