“I wished to question your son about his movements on the night of the murder.”

“Is my son suspected—­now?”

Barrant winced under the delicate inflection of irony which conveyed in that brief reply the inference of another blunder in his own changing suspicions.  That sneer roused the official in him, and it was in a curt tone of command that he said—­

“What time did your son get home on the day of the murder?”

“I am unable to say.”

“He did not return with you after the funeral?”

“No, he did not.”

“Where did he go?”

“These are strange questions, Detective Barrant.  I really cannot tell you that either, because I do not know.”

He put up his glasses to look at Barrant with an assumption of resentment, but the detective’s return glance was hard and searching.  “Was your son in to dinner that night?” he asked.

“We have midday dinner, in this house.”

“Well, supper.  Was he in to supper?”

Austin reflected rapidly.  He dared not refuse to answer the question, and any attempt to mislead the questioner would only make things worse when the two women in the house knew the truth.

“Yes.  He was in to supper.”

“And went out afterwards?”

This was put more as a simple statement of fact than a question.  Again, Austin’s subtle intelligence could see no better course than truth.

“He did.  My son frequently goes out walking of an evening after supper.”

“What time did he return—­on this evening?”

“I do not know.”

“Do you mean that?” Barrant’s tone was incredulous.

“I do.”  The impulse which had dictated his previous answer sprang from the thought that the foolish females downstairs could not contradict it, and he adhered calmly to the course now he was committed to it.

“What time did Thalassa come for you from Flint House with the news that your brother was dead?”

“I do not know the exact time.  He called at the police station first.”

“Had not your son returned by then?”

“I am unable to inform you.  He frequently goes straight to his room when he returns from an evening walk.”

“Then you do not know whether he was in or out when you left the house?”

“I assumed he was in, as it was after his usual time for returning.”

“You did not go to his room, to see?”

“No.  I did not wish to disturb him.”

Barrant looked as though there was only one possible construction to be placed on these replies, but he still did not utter the question which Austin feared and dreaded most.  In a harsh peremptory voice he said—­“Show me your son’s room.”