"Oh no!" said Neville, shocked. "I shouldn't have liked that at all."

"No, sir? Am I to understand you were not on good terms with Mr. Fletcher?"

"But I was. I'm on good terms with everyone. Only I'm not intimate."

"Well, but, what I mean, sir, is -'

"Yes, yes, I know what you mean. Did I know the secrets of my uncle's life? No, Sergeant: I hate secrets, and other people's troubles."

He said this with an air of sweet affability. The Sergeant was a little taken aback, but rallied, and said: "At all events, you knew him fairly well, sir?"

"We won't argue the point," murmured Neville.

"Do you know if he had any enemies?"

"Well, obviously he had, hadn't he?"

"Yes, sir, but what I'm trying to establish -'

"I know, but you see I'm just as much at a loss as you are. You weren't acquainted with my uncle?"

"I can't say as I was, sir."

Neville blew one smoke ring through another, and watched it dreamily. "Everybody called him Ernie," he sighed. "Or Ernie dear, according to sex. You see?"

The Sergeant stared for a moment, and then said slowly: "I think I get you, sir. I've always heard him well spoken of, I'm bound to say. I take it you don't know of any person with a grudge against him?"

Neville shook his head. The Sergeant looked at him rather discontentedly, and consulted Glass's notebook. "I see you state that after you left the dining-room you went into the billiard-room, where you remained until Miss Fletcher came to find you. At what hour would that have been?"

Neville smiled apologetically.

"You don't know, sir? No idea at all? Try and think!"