“Good morning, Miss Hoyle.” Inspector Furnival rose and placed a chair for the girl, scrutinizing her pale face keenly as he did so.
Cecily sat down.
“You sent for me,” she said nervously.
The inspector took the chair at the top of the table that had been Luke Bechcombe's favourite seat.
His interview with Cecily Hoyle was taking place by special arrangement in the library of the murdered man's private house, where, by special desire of Mrs. Bechcombe, Cecily was now installed as secretary to her late employer's widow.
The canny inspector had taken care to place the girl's chair so that the light from the near window fell full upon her face. As he drew his papers towards him and opened a capacious notebook he was thinking how white and worn the girl was looking, and there was a frightened glance in her brown eyes as she sat down that did not escape him.
The door opened to admit John Steadman. After a slight bow to Cecily he sat down at the inspector's right.
“Yes,” the inspector said, glancing across at Cecily, “I want to ask you a few questions, Miss Hoyle. It may make matters easier for you at the adjourned inquest if you answer them now.”
“I will do my best,” Cecily said, looking at him with big, alarmed eyes. “But, really, I have told you everything I know.”
John Steadman watched her from his lowered eyes. She would be a good witness with the jury, he thought, this slim, pale girl, with her great appealing eyes and her pathetic, trembling lips.