“Mr. Thompson?” the inspector suggested.
“I do not know!” Cecily tip-tilted her chin scornfully. “It was a mean thing to do, anyway.”
The inspector wrapped the photograph in its paper.
“No use bothering about that any more,” he said somewhat contradictorily putting it away carefully in his pocket as he did so. “Now, Miss Hoyle, once more, you adhere to your statement that you heard someone moving about in Mr. Bechcombe's room when you passed the door on your return from lunch—that return being some little time after one o'clock.”
“Half-past one, I dare say,” Cecily corrected. “As I came down the passage I heard the door into Mr. Bechcombe's room close rather softly, as I have heard Mr. Bechcombe close it heaps of times. Then just as I passed I heard someone move inside the room distinctly. It was a sound like a chair being moved and catching against something hard—table leg or something of that sort.”
“And you are aware that the doctors say that Mr. Bechcombe's death must have occurred about twelve o'clock?”
“I have heard so. You told me so,” Cecily murmured, then gathering up her courage, “but doctors make mistakes very often.”
“Scarcely over a thing of this kind,” the inspector remarked. “I suppose you realize the inference that will be drawn from your testimony?” he went on.
A little frown came between Cecily's straight eyebrows.
“Inference? No, I don't!” she said bluntly.