“I think,” said Parker, “I ought not, perhaps, to give you Mr. Templeton’s address without consulting him. But you could ’phone him-”

“Oh, yes, that would do. Is he in the book?”

“No- but I can give you his private number.”

“Thank you very much. You’ll forgive my bothering you.”

“No trouble at all.” And he named Lord Peter’s number.

Having rung off, he waited a moment and then called the number himself.

“Look here, Wimsey,” he said, “I’ve had a call from Mrs. Forrest. She wants to write to you. I wouldn’t give the address, but I’ve given her your number, so if she calls and asks for Mr. Templeton, you will remember who you are, won’t you?”

“Righty-ho! Wonder what the fair lady wants.”

“It’s probably occurred to her that she might have told a better story, and she wants to work off a few additions and improvements on you.”

Then she’ll probably give herself away. The rough sketch is frequently so much more convincing than the worked-up canvas.”

“Quite so. I couldn’t get anything out of her myself.”

“No. I expect she’s thought it over and decided it’s rather unusual to employ Scotland Yard to ferret out the whereabouts of errant husbands. She fancies there’s something up, and that I’m a nice soft-headed imbecile whom she can easily pump in the absence of the official Cerebrus.”

“Probably. Well, you’ll deal with the matter. I’m going to make a search for that soliciter.”

“Rather a vague sort of search, isn’t it?”

“Well, I’ve got an idea which may work out. I’ll let you know if I get any results.”

Mrs. Forrest’s call duly came through in about twenty minutes’ time. Mrs. Forrest had changed her mind. Would Mr. Templeton come round and see her that evening- about 9 o’clock, if that was convenient? She had thought the matter over and preferred not to put her information on paper.

Mr. Templeton would be very happy to come round. He had no other engagement It was no inconvenience at all. He begged Mrs. Forrest not to mention it.

Would Mr. Templeton be so very good as not to tell anybody about his visit? Mr. Forrest and his sleuths were continually on the watch to get Mrs. Forrest into trouble, and the decree absolute was due to come up in a month’s time. Any trouble with the King’s Proctor would be positively disastrous. It would be better if Mr. Templeton would come by Underground to Bond Street, and proceed to the flats on foot, so as not to leave a car standing outside the door or put a taxi-driver into a position to give testimony against Mrs. Forrest.

Mr. Templeton chivalrously promised to obey these directions.

Mrs. Forrest was greatly obliged, and would expect him at nine o’clock.

“Bunter!”

“My lord.”

“I am going out to-night. I’ve been asked not to say where, so I won’t. On the other hand, I’ve got a kind of feelin’ that it’s unwise to disappear from mortal ken, so to speak. Anything might happen. One might have a stroke, don’t you know. So I’m going to leave the address in a sealed envelope. If I don’t turn up before tomorrow mornin’, I shall consider myself absolved from all promises, what?”

“Very good, my lord.”

“And if I’m not to be found at that address, there wouldn’t be any harm in tryin’-say Epping Forest, or Wimbledon Common.”

“Quite so, my lord.”

“By the way, you made the photographs of those fingerprints I brought you some time ago?”

“Oh, yes, my lord.”

“Because possibly Mr. Parker may be wanting them presently for some inquiries he will be making.”

“I quite understand, my lord.”

“Nothing whatever to do with my excursion to-night, you understand.”

“Certainly not, my lord.”

“And now you might bring me Christie’s catalogue. I shall be attending a sale there and lunching at the club.”

And, detaching his mind from crime, Lord Peter bent his intellectual and financial powers to outbidding and breaking a ring of dealers, an exercise very congenial to his mischievous spirit.

Lord Peter duly fulfilled the conditions imposed upon him, and arrived on foot at the block of flats in South Audley Street. Mrs. Forrest, as before, opened the door to him herself. It was surprising, he considered, that, situated as she was, she appeared to have neither maid nor companion. But then, he supposed, a chaperon, however disarming of suspicion in the eyes of the world, might prove venal. On the whole, Mrs. Forrest’s principle was a sound one: no accomplices. Many transgressors, he reflected, had

“died because they never knew

These simple little rules and few.

Mrs. Forrest apologised prettily for the inconvenience to which she was putting Mr. Templeton.

“But I never know when I am not spied upon,” she said. “It is sheer spite, you know. Considering how my husband has behaved to me, I think it is monstrous-don’t you?”

Her guest agreed that Mr. Forrest must be a monster, jesuitically, however, reserving the opinion that the monster might be a fabulous one.

“And now you will be wondering why I have brought you here,” went on the lady. “Do come and sit on the sofa. Will you have whiskey or coffee?”

“Coffee, please.”

“The fact is,” said Mrs. Forrest, “I’ve had an idea since I saw you. I-you know, having been much in the same position myself” (with a slight laugh) “I felt so much for your friend’s wife.”

“Sylvia,” put in Lord Peter with commendable promptitude. “Oh, yes. Shocking temper and so on, but possibly some provocation. Yes, yes, quite. Poor woman. Feels things- extra sensitive- highly-strung and all that, don’t you know.”

“Quite so.” Mrs. Forrest nodded her fantastically turbanned head. Swathed to the eyebrows in gold tissue, with only two flat crescents of yellow hair plastered over her cheek-bones, she looked, in an exotic smoking-suit of embroidered tissue, like a young prince out of the Arabian Nights. Her heavily ringed hands busied themselves with the coffee-cups.

“Well – I felt that your inquiries were really serious, you know, and though, as I told you, it had nothing to do with me, I was interested and mentioned the matter in a letter to- to my friend, you see, who was with me that night.”

“Just so,” said Wimsey, taking the cup from her, “yes- er- that was very- er- it was kind of you to be interested.”

“He-my friend- is abroad at the moment. My letter had to follow him, and I only got his reply today.”

Mrs. Forrest took a sip or two of coffee as though to clear her recollection.

“His letter rather surprised me. He reminded me that after dinner he had felt the room rather close, and had opened the sitting-room window- that window, there- which overlooks South Audley Street. He noticed a car standing there- a small closed one, black or dark blue or some such colour. And while he was looking idly at it- the way one does, you know- he saw a man and woman come out of this block of flats- not this door, but one or two along to the left- and get in and drive off. The man was in evening dress and he thought it might have been your friend.”

Lord Peter, with his coffee-cup at his lips, paused and listened with great attention.

“Was the girl in evening dress, too?”

“No- that struck my friend particularly. She was in just a plain little dark suit, with a hat on.”

Lord Peter recalled to mind as nearly as possible Bertha Gotobed’s costume. Was this going to be real evidence at last?

“Th- that’s very interesting,” he stammered. “I suppose your friend couldn’t give any more exact details of the dress?”

“No,” replied Mrs. Forrest, regretfully, “but he said the man’s arm was round the girl as though she was feeling tired or unwell, and he heard him say, ‘That’s right- the fresh air will do you good.’ But you’re not drinking your coffee.”