Cecily looked amazed.
“What an extraordinary thing! I don't believe it was there when I was in this morning. I wonder who could have dropped it?”
“Possibly the murderer or murderess,” the inspector suggested dryly.
Cecily shivered back in her chair with a little cry.
“It cannot be true! Who would hurt Mr. Bechcombe? He must have had a fit!”
“Miss Hoyle”—the inspector leaned forward—“it was no fit. Mr. Bechcombe was certainly murdered, and Dr. Hackett says that death must have overtaken him either a few minutes before twelve or a few minutes after.”
“What!” Cecily's face became ghastly as the full significance of the words dawned upon her. “It couldn't——” she said, catching her breath in a sob. “He—he was quite well at twelve o'clock, and when I came back from my lunch I heard him moving about.”
“Could you hear what went on in his room in yours?”
“Oh, no. Absolutely nothing. But as I passed his door when I came back from lunch I distinctly heard him moving about. I was rather surprised at this, because I don't remember ever hearing any sound from Mr. Bechcombe's room before.”
“What did you do after you went back?”