“Just over a month.”
“Where were you previously?”
“At school. Miss Arnold Watson's at Putney. I stayed there until I was nineteen as a governess-pupil. Then—I hadn't any real gift for teaching—I took a course in shorthand and typing. Mr. Bechcombe wanted a secretary and I was fortunate enough to get the job.”
“Um!” The inspector turned over a new page in his notebook. “Now will you tell me all you know about Mr. Bechcombe's death?”
Cecily stared at him.
“But I don't know anything,” she said helplessly. “I never saw Mr. Bechcombe after he called me into his office about a quarter to twelve.”
“At a quarter to twelve!” The inspector pricked up his ears. “You saw Mr. Bechcombe at a quarter to twelve?”
“At a quarter to twelve,” she confirmed. “He sounded the electric bell which rings in my office, and I went in to him. He told me that he should have some important work for me later in the day, but that at present there was nothing and that I could go out to lunch when I liked. When I came back there were some letters to be attended to, and then he said I was to wait until he rang for me. That was all.”
“You saw and heard nothing more of Mr. Bechcombe until you came on the scene when the door was broken open by the clerks?”
“I did not see anything.”