The rector subsided into the nearest chair.
“I cannot believe it. Poor Luke had not an enemy in the world. What could have been the motive for so horrible a crime?”
“That I am endeavouring to find out,” the inspector said quietly.
“I can't understand it,” the clergyman said, raising his hand to his head. “Nobody would wilfully have hurt poor Luke, I am sure.”
“It is tolerably evident that somebody did,” the inspector commented dryly.
Mr. Collyer was silent for a minute; putting his elbow on the table, he rested his aching head upon his hand.
“But who could have done it?” he questioned brokenly at last.
The inspector coughed.
“That also I am trying to discover, sir. When did you see Mr. Bechcombe last, Mr. Collyer?”
“Last night. I dined with him at his house in Carlsford Square. Just a few hours ago, and poor Luke seemed so well and happy with us all, making jokes. And now—I can't believe it.”