At the same time, the inspector was not a little annoyed at Lord Bernard’s appearance on the train. Obviously it was connected in some way with Lord Henry’s presence in Brighton. There was not the smallest reason to suppose that he had anything to do with his brother’s business adventures, but the inspector had come down to interview one man, and he was not best pleased to find that he might have to do with two. So far as Lord Henry was concerned, he thought he knew fairly well what to expect. He was the stupid type of titled man, with a fair record of military service behind him, who would appeal to one such as Ballantine as likely to give a good appearance to a list of directors. Nobody would expect him to be concerned in his chairman’s fraudulent schemes or even to have the brains to understand them, and the only mystery was how it came about that of all the people connected with Ballantine he alone appeared to provide the link between him and Colin James. That mystery it was Mallett’s present business to clear up and if it came to a contest of wits he was fairly confident of the issue. But Lord Bernard—he shrugged his broad shoulders—was a different matter. He was without doubt, in his own way, a clever man. Lord Henry had read the account of the inquest in the papers, no doubt, and sent for his brother to assist and advise him. Under the influence of that shrewd man of the world, would he refuse to give any information? And what would Mallett’s remedy be if he did? He put down his paper and frowned out of the window at the darkened sky.

Whatever hopes the inspector may have had of reaching the Riviera Hotel before Lord Bernard and so of securing at least part of his interview without interference, were quickly disappointed. As he alighted on the station platform almost the first person he saw was Lord Bernard, being greeted by an obsequious chauffeur. Evidently Lord Henry was expecting his brother’s arrival. Before Mallett’s elderly taxi could clear the station, it was passed by a low open car of venomously speedy design, with Lord Bernard at the wheel, the chauffeur sitting beside him. “Not the sort of car I should have expected Lord Henry to own,” said Mallett to himself. “I thought he was a steady-going sort of stupid.”