“Indeed!” Tavernake remarked.  “I was hoping you would come to that soon.”

“The two sisters, Beatrice and Elizabeth, have been together ever since we can learn anything of their history.  Those people who don’t understand the disappearance of Wenham Gardner would like to know why they quarreled and parted, why Beatrice is keeping away from her sister in this strange manner.  I personally, too, should like to know from Miss Beatrice when she last saw Wenham Gardner alive.”

“You want me to ask Miss Beatrice these things?” Tavernake demanded.

“It might come better from you,” Pritchard admitted.  “I have written her to the theatre but naturally she has not replied.”

Tavernake looked curiously at his companion.

“Do you really suppose,” he asked, “that, even granted there were any unusual circumstances in connection with that quarrel—­do you seriously suppose that Beatrice would give her sister away?”

The detective sighed.

“No doubt, Mr. Tavernake,” he said, “these young ladies are friends of yours, and perhaps for that reason you are a little prejudiced in their favor.  Their whole bringing-up and associations, however, have certainly not been of a strict order.  I cannot help thinking that persuasion might be brought to bear upon Miss Beatrice, that it might be pointed out to her that a true story is the safest.”

“Well, if you’ve finished,” Tavernake declared, “I’d like to tell you what I think of your story.  I think it’s all d -d silly nonsense!  This Wenham Gardner, by your own saying, was half mad.  There was a quarrel and he’s gone off to Paris or somewhere.  As to your suggestions about Mrs. Gardner, I think they’re infamous.”

Pritchard was unmoved by his companion’s warmth.

“Why, that’s all right, Mr. Tavernake,” he affirmed.  “I can quite understand your feeling like that just at first.  You see, I’ve been among crime and criminals all my days, and I learn to look for a certain set of motives when a thing of this sort happens.  You’ve been brought up among honest folk, who go the straightforward way about life, and naturally you look at the same matter from a different point of view.  But you and I have got to talk this out.  I want you to understand that those very charming young ladies are not quite the class of young women whom you know anything about.  Mind you, I haven’t a word to say against Miss Beatrice.  I dare say she’s as straight as they make ’em.  But—­you must take another whiskey and soda, Mr. Tavernake.  Now, I insist upon it.  Tim, come right over here.”

Mr. Pritchard seemed to have forgotten what he was talking about.  The room had been suddenly invaded.  The whole of the little supper party, whose individual members he had pointed out to his companion, came trooping into the room.  They were all apparently on the best of terms with themselves, and they all seemed to make a point of absolutely ignoring Pritchard’s presence.  Elizabeth was the one exception.  She was carrying a tiny Chinese spaniel under one arm; with the fingers of her other hand she held a tortoise-shell mounted monocle to her eye, and stared directly at the two men.  Presently she came languidly across the room to them.