“It may—but at any rate it’s given me an idea. It can’t be coincidence—that’s certain. There’s only one thing it can be if I’m right in my idea. Ring up Sir Arthur, Tommy. Ask him to come round here at once. Say I’ve got important news for him. Then get hold of Marriot. Scotland Yard will know his address if he’s gone home.”
Sir Arthur Merivale, very much intrigued by the summons, arrived at the flat in about half an hour’s time. Tuppence came forward to greet him.
“I must apologise for sending for you in such a peremptory fashion,” she said. “But my husband and I have discovered something that we think you ought to know at once. Do sit down.”
Sir Arthur sat down, and Tuppence went on.
“You are, I know, very anxious to clear your friend.”
Sir Arthur shook his head sadly.
“I was, but even I have had to give in to the overwhelming evidence.”
“What would you say if I told you that chance has placed in my hands a piece of evidence that will certainly clear him of all complicity?”
“I should be overjoyed to hear it, Mrs. Beresford.”
“Supposing,” continued Tuppence, “that I had come across a girl who was actually dancing with Captain Hale last night at twelve o’clock—the hour when he was supposed to be at the Ace of Spades.”
“Marvellous,” cried Sir Arthur. “I knew there was some mistake. Poor Vere must have killed herself after all.”
“Hardly that,” said Tuppence. “You forget the other man.”
“What other man?”