"Paradise Street? I never go down there. I wasn't in Mangadone that
night," his face was dead white with a sick, leprous whiteness. "If
Heath said he saw me, Heath was wrong."

"Heath didn't say so," said Hartley. "It was the policeman on duty at
the corner who said that he had seen you."

"I tell you I wasn't in the place," said Joicey again.

Hartley coughed awkwardly.

"Well, if you weren't there, you weren't there," he said, pacifically.

"And Heath, what did Heath say?"

"I told you he said nothing, except that he had seen Absalom. I can't
understand this business, Joicey; directly I ask the smallest question
about that infernal night of July the twenty-ninth I am always met in
just the same way."

"I know nothing about it," said Joicey, shortly. "I wasn't here and I
don't know what Heath was doing, so there's no use asking me questions
about him."

The Banker relapsed into his former dull apathy, and leaned back in his
chair.

"I've had insomnia lately," he said, after a perceptible pause. "It
plays the deuce with one's nerves. I believe I need a change. This
cursed country gets into one's bones if one stays out too long. I've