While he was speaking, Mallett was only attending with half his mind. His eyes meanwhile were travelling round the airy, charmingly furnished room. Something that he had noticed when he entered it had touched a chord of memory—something connected with the matter in hand. What was it? Presently he found it. It was a small, brilliantly executed oil painting of a woman’s head, which hung over the mantelpiece. He had seen that face once before, and though the woman in the portrait was some years younger, at least, than the original when he had met her, he had no difficulty in recognizing her. It was Mrs. Ballantine. He had just established the fact to his satisfaction when Lord Bernard’s little discourse came to an end.

“Just so,” he said. “Everybody’s memory works in a different way, and you never can tell what will jog it into action again. What I have come to ask you is about something you said at that dinner, and about something you would have gone on to say if you had not been interrupted.”

Lord Bernard gave him a keen look.

“You must play fair with me, Inspector,” he said. “Before we go any further, you must tell me whether this in any way implicates my brother. Because if so——”

“I can promise you,” replied Mallett, “that nothing you can tell me will incriminate your brother. Indeed, I can go further and give you my assurance that I am quite convinced that Lord Henry is in no way concerned with this crime.”

“Very good. Then go ahead.”

“We had finished dinner, and you were talking about Ballantine. You told me that you had always distrusted him, principally because of his clothes. You mentioned that he always gave you the impression of a man dressed up for a part. Then you went on to speak in particular of the last time you saw him at his place in the country, where you had gone with Lord Henry to help his office staff to produce a play. I am speaking from recollection, but that is roughly the line the conversation took.”

“There’s not much wrong with your memory, is there?” said Lord Bernard with a smile. “I congratulate you. But I’m afraid I’m interrupting. Please go on. What did I say next?”

“That’s just the point. You were going to say something, and had got so far as ‘That reminds me——’ when you were interrupted. Now I have reasons for thinking that if you can tell me what you were about to say, it will help me to prove who murdered Ballantine.”

“That sounds extremely improbable, if I may say so,” Lord Bernard commented.

“It is true, none the less, and I must ask your lordship to take my word for it.”