“Have you come to tell me that Inspector Mansfield has arrived?” she asked, perfectly naturally.
Roger threw himself casually on the ground just in front of her.
“No, he hasn’t come yet,” he replied easily. “Very hot out here, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is. But the heat doesn’t worry me, I’m glad to say. I had enough of it in the Soudan to inure me to anything that this country can produce.”
“You’re lucky then. Alec, why on earth don’t you lie down and be comfortable? Never stand up when you can sit down instead. By the way, Mrs. Plant, I suppose you’ll be staying over for the inquest to-morrow, won’t you?”
“Oh, no. I shall be off this afternoon, Mr. Sheringham.”
Roger glanced up. “But surely you’ll be wanted to give evidence? You were the last person to see him alive, weren’t you? In the hall, you know?”
“Oh, I—I don’t think I shall be needed, shall I?” Mrs. Plant asked apprehensively, paling slightly. “The inspector didn’t—he didn’t say anything about it.”
“Perhaps he didn’t know then that you were the last person,” said Roger carelessly, but watching her narrowly. “And afterwards he must have forgotten to warn you; or else he was intending to do so this afternoon. But they’re certain to need you, you know.”
It was very clear that this piece of news was highly unwelcome. Mrs. Plant’s hand was trembling in her lap, and she was biting her lip in an effort to retain her self-control.