quite a blameless sort of fellow. Plays a bit, spends a bit—nothing more."
"Oh, he wanted money—did he?"
"My dear Fortune, you're right off the wicket. He had an alibi. He was with some people at Maidenhead at the time of the murder."
"Oh, my aunt, anybody can have an alibi," Reggie grumbled.
Lomas laughed and shook his head. "It won't do, Reginald. Don't try to be subtle."
"Well, that isn't your complaint," Reggie snarled, and for once they parted in nasty tempers.
Three days afterwards a telephone message called him to Scotland Yard, and he found Lomas in conference with Superintendent Bell.
"Ah, here's the prophet," Lomas smiled. "Do you remember—in the Charlecote murder—you backed Herbert both ways? Well, the latest from the course is that Herbert has vanished."
"Then it's damned careless of you. I told you to watch him. You're not intelligent in the Force, but, hang it, you might be active."
"His valet reports him disappeared. He had a dinner engagement last night. Didn't come home to dress for it. Didn't come home at all. He went out after lunch yesterday, and hasn't been seen since."
Reggie sat down. "One of your larger cigars would do me, good, Lomas," he said, and helped himself. "Oh, Mr. Lomas, sir, this is so sudden.
