“I am,” said I. “Are you the inspector?”
“Inspector Dalzell,” he explained with a bow, which included my uncle.
Then he closed the door.
“I hope I have not frightened you,” he went on, approaching me with a gentlemanly air. “A little matter has come up concerning which I mean to be perfectly frank with you. It may prove to be of trivial importance; if so, you will pardon my disturbing you. Mr. Durand—you know him?”
“I am engaged to him,” I declared before poor uncle could raise his hand.
“You are engaged to him. Well, that makes it difficult, and yet, in some respects, easier for me to ask a certain question.”
It must have made it more difficult than easy, for he did not proceed to put this question immediately, but went on:
“You know that Mr. Durand visited Mrs. Fairbrother in the alcove a little while before her death?”
“I have been told so.”
“He was seen to go in, but I have not yet found any one who saw him come out; consequently we have been unable to fix the exact minute when he did so. What is the matter, Miss Van Arsdale? You want to say something?”