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Mr. Prestcott went up with them to Conway Jefferson’s suite. It was on thefirst floor, overlooking the sea. Melchett said carelessly:

“Does himself pretty well, eh? Rich man?”

“Very well off indeed, I believe. Nothing’s ever stinted when he comeshere. Best rooms reserved—food usually à la carte, expensive wines—bestof everything.”

Melchett nodded.

Mr. Prestcott tapped on the outer door and a woman’s voice said: “Comein.”

The manager entered, the others behind him.

Mr. Prestcott’s manner was apologetic as he spoke to the woman whoturned her head at their entrance from her seat by the window.

“I am so sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Jefferson, but these gentlemen are—from the police. They are very anxious to have a word with Mr. Jefferson.