"You're aware of the past relationship between Mr. Wintour and Miss Hendricks?''
His eyes flared for an instant. "Water over the dam," he said coldly.
"Has your fiancee had any contact with Mr. Wintour since their engagement was broken?"
"None whatever."
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a warning finger.
"Can you account for your whereabouts last night?" I continued.
"My whereabouts? See here, I'm not obliged to answer any more of these questions." He took out a heavy gold watch and made an elaborate show of consulting the time. "I have half a mind to-"
"Harry."
My brother straightened up and took a step towards his lordship. That was all it took. The young man skittered backward three steps and raised his arms as if fending off a blow. "All right!" he cried.
"Where were you last night?" I repeated.
He gave a resigned shrug. "I was here, actually. And I lost rather a lot, in case you might like to know."
"Can you produce witnesses to that effect?"
"I should prefer not to," he said. "I was-you see, I wasn't gambling the entire time, if you take my meaning."
"But I take it you weren't alone, either?"
"No."
"For the entire evening?"
"That is correct."
"And where were you before you arrived here?" "I was having tea with Miss Hendricks and her mother."
"I see." I took a moment to study his face and found myself wanting to mash it like a turnip.
Lord Wycliffe brushed his lapels and tugged at his cuffs. "If there's nothing else, gentlemen?"
I decided to play my ace. "So tell me, Lord Wycliffe, however did you acquire Le Fantфme?'
I have to give the man credit. He barely flinched. He blinked twice, but that was about it. His upper lip remained as stiff as one could wish.
"I think perhaps we should repair to a quieter room," he said as a wine steward appeared on the wooden steps. "If you'll follow me?"
"Dash," Harry whispered, as we followed him up the steps. "How did you know? This is extraordinary!"
"His watch, Harry. It's from Blois." "Robert-Houdin's home town. I see. But that did not necessarily mean that Lord Wycliffe was the owner of Le Fantфme."'
"No, but I figured it was worth a shot."
"Is he the killer? Should we apprehend him?"
"His story seems pretty solid, Harry. But let's see what we can get out of him."
"Extraordinary." Harry shook his head as we weaved through the crowded gaming parlor. "I saw, but I did not observe."
"What?"
"Nothing. It is nothing."
Lord Wycliffe led us up the main staircase to the second floor of the house. We passed down a central corridor and hooked left into a narrow sitting area. He seemed to know his way around, I noticed. He knocked on a closed door and, receiving no answer, turned the handle. "This way, gentlemen," he said. "We'll have a bit of privacy."
It was a small room, papered in wide stripes of a violet hue. A bed with a tall wooden headboard was the central feature of the room, with two chairs and a small dressing table arranged alongside. A beaded floor lamp provided the only illumination.
Harry and I each took a chair, leaving Lord Wycliffe to perch awkwardly on the edge of the bed. He folded his hands across one knee and spent a moment with his eyes closed, chin sunk onto his chest, before speaking again.
"I did not kill Branford Wintour," he said at last.
"And yet," I said, "you've been at great pains to conceal the fact that you are the man trying to sell Le
Fantфme, the device that the police believe to be the murder weapon."
"The automaton didn't kill Wintour! The very idea is absurd!"
"Patently absurd!" Harry blurted out. "Why, the very notion is-"
"What we believe is not at issue," I said.
"I wasn't even there last night!" Lord Wycliffe insisted.
"No, but when you saw the newspapers this morning, you should have come forward."
His shoulders sagged. He pulled a gold case from his breast pocket and offered us a Turkish cigarette. They looked very inviting, but up to that point I had managed to conceal my smoking habits from my brother, so I waved them away.
"Can you blame me for keeping silent?" he asked, lighting a cigarette for himself. "I'm in an impossible situation. It was necessary to keep the transaction silent from the beginning. I couldn't let Michael Hendricks know about my-my financial difficulties. And I promised Katherine I wouldn't gamble anymore. I simply- well, I thought it best if I could just sell off a few trinkets, settle my debts, and start fresh. Now, with Win-tour's death, I'm in a hell of a position. Before I was merely a scoundrel. Now I'm thrown into a murder. It's impossible." He gave a heavy sigh, sending a rich and inviting cloud of cigarette smoke in my direction.
"I'm afraid we don't understand your impossible situation," I said. "How did you come to be in possession of Le Fantфme?"
"My family, of course," he said airily. "You know the sort of thing. My mother was French, and we had a good deal in the way of French watches, mantel clocks-that sort of thing. Terribly good workmanship. I rather took it all for granted when I was growing up."
"All from Blois?"
"I think so, yes."
I could see Harry struggling to hide his excitement. "And automatons? Were there a great many automatons in the house when you were growing up?"
"One or two. Perhaps more. Terribly clever things. Father would sometimes wind them up and make them go for the guests. Marvelous things."
Harry's face fell. "Only one or two?"
"Perhaps a few more. A dozen or so? I never took much notice before."
"How many do you have with you in New York?" Harry asked.
"Just the one. I wanted to see what sort of price it would fetch before I had others sent over. The funny thing is, you see, that I never would have realized how valuable they were if not for Michael Hendricks. He has any number of the things scattered around that giant playroom of his, and I shudder to think what ridiculous prices he payed for them. But of course I couldn't very well stroll in and say, 'Would you like to buy my automaton so I can clear my debts?' The whole thing had to be very hush-hush."
I looked on longingly as he lit another cigarette. "So you engaged Mr. Harrington as your intermediary?"
Lord Wycliffe's head snapped up in surprise. "How do you know about him?''
"Just tell us who he is and how you found him."
He shook his head slowly. "That's the queer thing about it. He found me. About three weeks ago, here at the club. I'd never seen him before or since. I'd been losing quite heavily that night, and we got to talking at the bar. He mentioned that every so often he was able to help a sportsman such as myself out of his difficulties."
"Sportsman?"
"That was his term. He was quite delicate about the enterprise. He asked me if I had any bothersome old family jewelry or antiques that I might like to convert into working capital. Again, that was exactly how he phrased it. So I had Le Fantфme crated up and shipped over, and he agreed to see what he could do about selling it off."
"Did he mention that he would attempt to sell it to Branford Wintour?"
Lord Wycliffe shook his head. "He only said that he would make the necessary arrangements."
"For a fee?"
"For a twenty-five per cent commission of the sale."
"Twenty-five? That seems rather steep."
"I thought so, too. But one pays a premium to ensure discretion."
"I suppose so. Where can we find Mr. Harrington?"
"But, Dash," Harry said, "we're going to see-·" I shot a withering look in his direction.