Alec had strolled over to the windows again. For some reason he seemed somewhat anxious to keep the garden under observation as far as possible.
“Oh, I won’t interrupt you,” he was beginning carelessly, when at the same moment the reason appeared in sight, walking slowly on to the lawn from the direction of the rose garden. “Well, as a matter of fact, perhaps I will wander out for a bit,” he emended hurriedly. “Won’t stay away long, in case anything else crops up.” And he made a hasty exit.
Roger, following with his eyes the bee-line his newly appointed assistant was taking, smiled slightly and resumed his labours.
Alec did not waste time. There was a question which had been worrying him horribly during the last couple of hours, and he wanted an answer to it, and wanted it quickly.
“Barbara,” he said abruptly, as soon as he came abreast of her, “you know what you told me this morning. Before breakfast. It hadn’t anything to do with what’s happened here, had it?”
Barbara blushed painfully. Then as suddenly she paled.
“You mean—about Mr. Stanworth’s death?” she asked steadily, looking him full in the eyes.
Alec nodded.
“No, it hadn’t. That was only a—a horrible coincidence.” She paused. “Why?” she asked suddenly.
Alec looked supremely uncomfortable. “Oh, I don’t know. You see, you said something about—well, about a horrible thing that had happened. And then half an hour later, when we knew that—I mean, I couldn’t help wondering just for the moment whether——” He floundered into silence.