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“Extremely wrong,” Chan continued. “You can not convict a man with an alibi such as his. All broken pins in world would not avail.”

“Then the whole thing’s a flop, according to you?”

“So far—yes. But I do not despair. Permit me that I think a moment. There is some explanation of this. Ah, yes—come with me.”

They returned to the dining-room. The group about that barren table looked at them expectantly.

“Kindly hold positions just as at present,” Chan said. “I come back before I am missed.”

He stepped through a swinging door into the kitchen, and they heard his voice in low converse with Wu Kno-ching, the cook. They waited in silence; even the obviously innocent appeared anxious and uneasy. Presently Charlie returned, walking with unwonted briskness and with a grim look on his face.

“Jessop,” he said.

The butler stepped forward with a rather startled air.

“Yes, Constable?”

“Jessop, after these people departed last night, others sat at this table?”

The butler had a guilty look. “I’m extremely sorry, sir. It was not quite in order—I would not ordinarily countenance it in a well-run house, but things were rather at sixes and sevens—and we had had no dinner—so we just sat down for a bit of coffee; we needed it badly——”

“Who sat down?”

“Anna and I, sir.”

“You and Anna sat down at this table, after the guests had gone? Where did you sit?”