"On no fewer than six occasions," he said, "I have approximate dates
here, Sir Marcus sent his card to Miss Merlin's dressing-room."

"I know," I interrupted him; "he persecuted her, but she never saw
him."

"Wait a minute. Last night"--Gatton glanced at me sharply--"Marie,
the maid, came down after Sir Marcus's card had been sent to the
dressing-room and talked for several minutes to the late baronet, just
by the doorkeeper's box, but out of earshot. That was at ten o'clock.
At eleven, that is after the performance, Sir Marcus returned, and
again Marie came down to see him. They went out into the street
together and Sir Marcus entered a cab which was waiting and drove off.
Miss Merlin left a quarter of an hour later."

Our glances met and a silence of some moments' duration fell between
us; then:

"You suggest," I said, "that Miss Merlin had arranged a rendezvous
with him and to save appearances had joined him there later?"

"Well"--Gatton raised his eyebrows--"what do _you_ suggest?"

I found myself temporarily at a loss for words, but:

"Knowing nothing of this," I explained, "naturally I was not in a
position to tax Miss Merlin with it. Possibly you have done so. What
is her explanation?"

"I have not seen her," confessed Gatton; "I arrived at her flat ten