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“I repeat—what name did he offer when he worked with you?”

“I’m sorry, Inspector,” the old man replied. “But he has asked us not to refer to the matter.”

Chan’s eyes flashed with sudden interest. “He requests that you do not mention his real name?”

“Yes. He said he had done wi’ it, and asked us to think of him as Mr. Tarneverro.”

Charlie felt his way carefully. “Mr. MacMaster, a serious situation looks us hard in the face. Murder was done last night. Tarneverro is not guilty man. You prove same yourself by offer of alibi, which is accepted by us in sincere spirit, because we know it is spoken same way. You have performed that favor for him. You do it gladly because you love truth. But more even dear friend has no right to ask of you. You have said you are law-abiding, and no one exists who is stupid enough to doubt that. I wish to know Mr. Tarneverro’s name when he was with you in Australia.”

The old man turned uncertainly to his wife. “I—I don’t know. This is a difficult position, Mother.”

“You will not prove him murderer by giving it,” Charlie continued. “Already you have saved him from that. But you will impede our work if you withhold same—and I am plenty certain you are not kind of man to do that.”

“I don’t understand,” the Scotchman muttered. “Mother, what do you think?”

“I think Mr. Chan is right.” She beamed upon Charlie. “We have done enough when we swear to his alibi. If you won't tell, Father, I will. Why should a man be ashamed of his real name?—And it was his real name, I’m sure.”