Steadman shrugged his shoulders.
“Don't you realize that the medical testimony that Luke Bechcombe met his death soon after twelve o'clock has always been at variance with Mrs. Carnthwacke's statement that she saw him alive and well at one o'clock, and afterwards Miss Hoyle too heard some one moving about in Mr. Bechcombe's room when she returned from lunch? Now we realize that the doctors were right and that Mrs. Carnthwacke's interview took place with the murderer and that Miss Hoyle——”
The last word was interrupted by a hoarse, muffled shriek from Mrs. Carnthwacke. “I can't bear it, Cyril. If you don't take me away I shall die.”
The American looked round doubtfully, then he drew her to her feet and supported her with one arm.
“Guess there is nothing to be gained by staying any longer,” he said, a certain note of truculence in his voice as he met Steadman's eyes. “You know where to find us if you want us. Come then, little woman, we will just say good morning.”
No one made any effort to detain them as they went towards the door. John Steadman followed them into the hall.
Carnthwacke was bending over his wife and saying something to her in a low, earnest voice. As John Steadman came up to them he turned.
“Guess that little fair lady on your side the table is some one you know well, sir?”
Steadman looked at him curiously.
“Well, fairly well. She is engaged to Luke Bechcombe's nephew. She is a compatriot of yours too—a Mrs. Phillimore.”