Inspector Gibbs was a very polite young man, excellently groomed, and with an air of treating you as one man of the world treats another. Very politely he explained the purpose of his visit, and told Ellery that he must not suppose that, merely because the police asked him certain questions, there was any suspicion at all attaching to him. “But we must, you know, get all our facts quite complete.” Ellery said that he fully understood, and was prepared to answer any questions to the best of his power. “But the plain fact is,” he said, “that I know nothing at all about it.”
He was first asked at what time he had left Liskeard House on Tuesday evening, and replied that it was a few minutes past ten—he could not say more exactly. No, he had not returned there later in the evening—he had gone straight back to Chelsea. At what time had he reached his rooms in Chelsea? About midnight. Not till he made that answer did it occur to him that there was anything in his movements it might be difficult to explain.
“About midnight?” said the inspector, with a note of surprise in his voice. “But you said you went straight back after leaving Liskeard House.”
“What I meant was that I went nowhere else in particular in between. As a matter of fact I walked back, and spent some time strolling up and down the Embankment before I returned to my rooms. I went down to Chelsea Bridge and walked right along the Embankment to Lots Road, and then back here to Tite Street. It was just about midnight when I let myself in.”
“I see. And did you meet anyone after you came in?”
“No; but my landlady may have seen me come in. There was still a light in her room, which looks out over the front door.”
Before the inspector left he saw the landlady, and confirmed this with her. She had seen Ellery come in at about midnight. There was nothing unusual in his taking a long evening stroll by the river on a fine night.
But before he saw the landlady the inspector had further questions to ask of Ellery himself. “You say, then, that you were walking about for close on two hours between Liskeard House and Chelsea Embankment. Is there anyone who can corroborate this?”
Ellery thought for a moment. “Yes, there ought to be,” he said. “I met a friend who lives somewhere down here in Chelsea, at Hyde Park Corner, at about a quarter past ten, and he left me at the Lots Road end of the Embankment at about half-past eleven. We were together all that time.”
“Will you give me his name and address?”
Ellery paused for a moment, and then gave a nervous laugh. “Upon my word,” he said, “this is devilish awkward. I don’t know the chap’s address—I never have known it. All I do know is that he lives somewhere down the west end of Chelsea—not far from World’s End, I think he said.”
“I dare say we can trace him,” said the inspector. “You had better tell me his profession as well as his name. Perhaps you know where he works.”
“Good Lord, this is worse than ever,” said Ellery. “I can’t for the life of me remember what the fellow’s name is. It has slipped clean out of my memory.” Then, seeing a heightened look of surprise on the inspector’s face: “You see,” he added, “I hardly know him really. He’s only a casual acquaintance I’ve met a few times at the Club.” He paused and glanced at his visitor, in whose manner he was already conscious of a change.
“Come, come, Mr. Ellery, surely you must be able to remember the man’s name. It’s not—”
“I only wish I could. I almost had it then. It’s something like Forrest or Forrester or Foster, I’m nearly sure. But it isn’t any of those. I’m nearly certain it begins with an F.”
“Isn’t it rather curious that you should have been walking about London for so long with a man you hardly know, and whose name even you can’t remember?”
“It may be curious, inspector, and you may think I’m making it all up. I can see you’re inclined to think that. But what I’ve told is exactly what happened. I expect the name will come back to me soon—I have a way of just forgetting things like that every now and then.”
“A most unfortunate way, if I may say so. I can only hope that your memory will soon come back. You realise, I suppose, that the consequences of your—lapse may be serious?”
“Oh, nonsense, inspector. I don’t see anything so curious about it. I often get talking with chaps I don’t know from Adam; and I’m quite capable of forgetting the name of my dearest friend. What happened was that we were both walking home towards Chelsea, it was a beautifully fine night, and we got into an interesting conversation—about plays. I’m a playwright, you know, and I think he must be an actor. I mean, from the way he talked.”
“Well, Mr. Ellery, I should advise you to make a strong effort to find that gentleman again, or to remember his name. No doubt it’s quite all right; but it will be best for you to have your alibi confirmed.”
Ellery saw that Inspector Gibbs was not quite sure whether to believe or disbelieve his story. After all, it did sound a bit fishy. It would be awkward, and quite fatal to his plans of acting as an amateur detective, if the police began seriously to suspect him of having had a hand in the murders. That would put a visit to Liskeard House—and to Joan—more than ever out of
