“I would, and all,” replied the constable grimly.
“That’s fine,” said Mr. Doyle, without conviction. This was a snag he had not foreseen. He blessed himself for the happy piece of foolery which had caused Nesbitt and himself to dress for their part and cover their faces with the mufflers. In the meantime Dora would certainly have to lie low till she got back to London.
“Now, sir,” the Inspector’s voice remarked in rolling tones. “Now, Mr. Doyle, if you’ll come with me down the road to where you’re staying, I’d just like to ask the members of the household there if they heard anything. Mr. Howard, isn’t it? Who else is there?”
For the fraction of a second Mr. Doyle lost his head. “Nobody!” he said swiftly.
To his guilty mind it seemed as if the Inspector’s eye became suddenly less genial. “What, nobody else?” he said.
“Nobody!” repeated the guilty one firmly.
“No maids, even?”
Mr. Doyle drew a breath of relief. “No, no maids. Their maids come in by the day. Mr. Howard and I were quite alone this evening.”
“Who keeps house for him, then?”
“Oh, his sister. Er—Miss Howard. But she’s away for the week-end.” Mr. Doyle cocked an anxious eye at the door, to reassure himself that Laura was not coming down the passage towards them at that moment, complete with handcuff and accomplice.