Pescini met his gaze coolly and easily. Perhaps little points of light glittered in his eyes, but his pale face was singularly impassive. “I hadn’t gone to bed,” he answered simply.
“How did that happen? Do you usually wait till long after midnight to go to bed?”
“Not always. I have no set hour. Last night I was reading.”
“Some book that was in your room?”
“A book I had carried with me. ‘The diary of a Peruvian Princess’ was the title. An old book—but exceedingly interesting.”
He spoke gravely, yet it was good to hear him. “I’ll make a note of it,” the coroner said, falling into his mood. But at once he got back to business. “You didn’t remove your coat?”
“No. I got so interested that I forgot to make any move towards bed.”
The coroner paused, then took another tack. “You’ve known Nealman for a long time, have you not, Pescini?”
“Something over four years, I should judge.”