“I should suggest, my lord,” continued the inspector hurriedly, “that an alibi would be of the most service.  I do not say for one moment that Mr. Leroy did commit the forgery; but, of course, he will be able to prove where he was on the twenty-second of last month, at three o’clock.”

Shelton’s face brightened.  He wheeled round on his friend.

“Adrien,” he exclaimed, “tell us where you were on that day; not to satisfy me, you know that, but to get this folly over.”

Leroy gazed sadly at him, but remained silent; and Shelton grew hot, and then white with irritation, at this inexplicable silence.

“Think, my dear Adrien,” he said in a quick, impatient voice.  “Were you at the club, or your chambers, or Park Lane—­where were you?  Come, you can’t have forgotten.”

He stamped his foot in his impatience; for although he would have laughed to scorn any assertion of his friend’s guilt, it annoyed him that a shadow should remain on Adrien’s name for a single instant, and especially when a few words from Leroy himself would end the matter.

But Adrien made no indignant protest, such as might have been expected.

“No,” he said at length, “I have not forgotten where I spent the day of the twenty-second——­”

“Then, for Heaven’s sake, man, speak out,” exclaimed Shelton in excitement.

“I cannot,” answered Adrien with a sigh.  “I gave my word to keep secret certain events that happened on that day.  They took place far away from the City, but I cannot reveal where.  Those who say they saw me in London are lying, and I could easily disprove their statements; but you would not have me break my word?”

There was an awful silence, as he finished speaking.  Not one present but realised the gravity of the situation, and the futility of putting further questions.

At this point the inspector turned to Lord Barminster.

“My lord,” he said almost gently, “I’m afraid I must ask Mr. Leroy to come back with me—­and at once; but for the sake of all here, it can be arranged so that your guests shall remain ignorant.  There are not many hours before the morning now.”

This was indeed true, for time waits for no man, be it spent in pleasure or in crime.  “I would suggest that Mr. Leroy and myself return to London; and if he will give me his word of honour not to attempt any escape, I will dismiss my men, who were sent down with me altogether against my will.”

“Certainly, you may rely on my not offering any resistance,” was Leroy’s reply, with a faint smile at the idea called up by the inspector’s words.  “I should like to change my things to something more suitable.”  He glanced down at the velvet and lace of his King Charles costume; all this seemed like a dream from which he must awake to find himself back in the ball-room.

“Certainly, sir,” agreed the inspector, who seemed honestly reluctant to make the business any more unpleasant than necessary.