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roughly. “You don’t think I killed Shelah Fane, do you? By gad, I'll speak to some one down at the station about this. Do you know who I am———”

“Oh, who are you, anyhow, Wilkie?” his wife put in wearily. “Why not tell the Inspector what he wants to know and have done with it?” She turned to Chan. “We arrived about seven-thirty, and after a little chat with Miss Fane, stepped out on the beach to watch the bathers. It was about a quarter to eight when we went out there, I imagine.”

“You were engaged in this manner how long?”

“Answering for myself, I was on the beach until Jessop came out at eight-thirty. About ten minutes before that, Mr. Van Horn joined us, and my husband got up and strolled toward the house.”

“At two minutes past eight, then, yourself and husband were seated side by side on sand. You heard no cry or other indication of disturbance?”

“None at all. The two girls in the water were doing more or less screaming—you know how people will. But that’s not the sort of thing you mean?”

“Not precisely,” replied Chan. “Thank you so much. We drop you for the present.”

Julie O’ Neill came slowly into the room. The new pink evening gown she had looked forward to wearing at the party was back on its hanger, and she had donned a simple little dress of gray chiffon. Her face was still decidedly pale, but she seemed calm and collected now. Chan turned to her.

“Good evening. I am so sorry to be here. Not until this moment have I encountered the pleasant thrill of seeing you. Would you mind informing me just who you are?”