it on me at the time and what’s more she made me write it down in a little book.”
With some pride he showed an entry faintly pencilled: “Having supper with Una. Savoy. Tuesday 19th.”
“Where had Miss Drake been earlier in the evening? Do you know?”
“She had been to some rotten show called Pink Peonies or something like that. Absolute slosh so she told me.”
“You are quite sure Miss Drake was with you that evening?”
Mr. le Marchant stared at him.
“Why, of course. Haven’t I been telling you?”
“Perhaps she asked you to tell us,” said Tuppence.
“Well, for a matter of fact she did say something that was rather dashed odd. She said, what was it now? ‘You think you