“I see.” He was not surprised, but it might have been an advantage if the point could have been argued. “What time did you leave home that evening?”

“I expected you to ask me that. Early. It was a lovely evening.” He gave a twisted grimace, not quite a smile, as if the bitter humor of it were momentarily overwhelming. “I walked down by the river for an hour or more. I lost track of time.…”

Rathbone held up his hand to stop him. “Down by the river where? You don’t live anywhere near Chiswick.”

“Of course not. Who the devil lives in Chiswick? But I didn’t want to wander along the Embankment and run into half a dozen people I know who would want to talk politics, or gossip. I took a boat up the river, and I’ve racked my brain to recall anyone I knew who saw me. But the whole charm of going up on the water is the peace of it, the very fact that you don’t meet anyone you know. I’m sorry.” He shrugged very slightly, with barely a movement of his shoulders.

“You didn’t row yourself!” Rathbone observed.

“Well, actually, I did.”

“You hired a boat? From whom? They’ll have a record of it.”

“No. I have my own. At least, I share it with a fellow I know. But he’s in Italy at the moment. No use, is it!”

“No,” Rathbone agreed. “Where did you go—exactly?”

“Chiswick. I tied it up at one of the mooring posts up there opposite the Chiswick Eyot. Then I went along the Mall and had a drink at the pub off Black Lion Lane. I spoke to a few lads I know, but I doubt they’d remember it. Just stupid remarks about the weather, that sort of thing.”

“Then what?”

Rupert looked down at his hands on the table. “Then I went and visited a woman I know—a girl.”

“Is that a euphemism for a prostitute?” Rathbone inquired.

A dull color marked Rupert’s cheeks. “Yes.”

“Her name?”

“Hattie Benson.”

“You know her? Other than in the carnal sense?”

Rupert looked up quickly. “Yes. But I don’t imagine her word is going to help a lot. I still had my cravat then. I remember taking it off, so it must have been before Parfitt was killed with it. Unless someone killed him with another silk cravat, exactly like mine. That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?” There was a flicker of hope in his voice, but he killed it himself, before Rathbone had the chance.

“Yes. I’m afraid it is,” Rathbone replied. “Where did you go after you left Miss Benson?”