“I think that’s the best way to look at it. What did Mr. Thursby talk about?”
“Mostly roses and mulch.” He broke off suddenly, regarding his sister with an intense and puzzled expression. “I’ve an extraordinary impression that some one died in this room not long ago; some one who didn’t want to die and wasn’t ready for it.”
“What do you mean?” she stammered. “Please, Jack, don’t go off on that tack the very day we reach here. You’ll never get anything done.”
“I mean just that; I’m perfectly sure some one did. Perkins will know, and, I say, perhaps that’s what—”
“Jack,” she interrupted hastily, “please leave Perkins to me. When Mrs. Thursby was here she said that there was a sudden death in this room about two years ago, and—”
“Millicent?” he shot out.
“Yes,” she said helplessly.
“Murdered?”
“I assumed that. He was found at his desk. Mrs. Thursby seemed to want to say more, and yet not want to.” Miss Derrick paused, aware of her brother’s penetrating gaze. He would soon know it all in any case, and perhaps it was wisest to clear the air as much as possible at the outset.
“Now I understand why the rental asked was so low,” she continued. “The Thursbys simply got frightened. But I’m astonished you asked no questions on your account.”