“⁠—did I think I had seen you?” I finished for him. “At Marlow. You know Marlow? Why, of course, how stupid of me, Sir Eustace has a house there!”

But with an incoherent muttered excuse, my victim rose and fled.

That night I invaded Suzanne’s cabin, alight with excitement.

“You see, Suzanne,” I urged, as I finished my tale, “he was in England, in Marlow, at the time of the murder. Are you so sure now that the ‘man in the brown suit’ is guilty.”

“I’m sure of one thing,” said Suzanne, twinkling unexpectedly.

“What’s that?”