He edged away from Alec and intercepted Mrs. Plant, who was on the point of ascending the staircase. Jefferson and Lady Stanworth were still talking with the coroner in the morning room.
“Mrs. Plant,” he said quietly, “can you spare me a few minutes? I want to have a little chat with you.”
Mrs. Plant glanced at him sharply.
“But I’m just going up to finish my packing,” she objected.
“What I have to say is very much more important than packing,” Roger returned weightily, unconsciously regarding her from beneath lowered brows.
Mrs. Plant laughed nervously. “Dear me, Mr Sheringham, you sound very impressive. What is it that you want to speak to me about?”
“If you will come out into the garden where we shall not be overheard, I will tell you.”
For a moment she hesitated, with a longing glance up the staircase as if she wished to escape from something peculiarly unwelcome. Then with a little shrug of her shoulders she turned into the hall.
“Oh, very well,” she said, with an assumption of lightness. “If you really make such a point of it.”
Roger piloted her out through the front door, picking up a couple of folding garden chairs as he passed through the hall. He led the way into a deserted corner of the rose garden that could not be overlooked from the house, and set up his chairs so that they faced one another.