Peter Creighton had a fashion of receiving such bits of news in a little silence that gave him time to gather his wits. Miss Ocky saw that the good humor was gone from his face which was now grave and stern. He did not speak until he had deposited his bag in the tonneau of the car and seated himself at her side in the front.
"Murdered," he said; it was not a question.
"The doctor says the blow could not have been self-inflicted." She touched the starter and turned the car homeward. "Yes—murdered."
"That is terrible, Miss Copley. I feel deeply shocked. Has the murderer been identified?"
"I can't say positively. He was found about six o'clock this morning by the cook, and you can imagine that we have been simply inundated with police and officials ever since. They've been doing a lot of whispering and conferring and I think they do suspect some one, but of course they haven't confided in me."
"Excuse me, Miss Copley—just who are you? I gather you are a member of the Varr household."
"He was my brother-in-law. He married my sister. I've been visiting them about two months."
"I see. Thank you. Now—what about Krech and the police?"
"Well, they notified Jason Bolt—he was Simon's partner—and he came right over, bringing Mr. Krech, who is staying with him. There was a lot of talk about a mysterious monk—I know something about him, too!—and just when it was time to go to the train, Mr. Norvallis was questioning your friend in the living-room. So I slipped away and came to your rescue. It's as well I did—there are no taxis in Hambleton!"
"It was very good of you to remember me, with so much else to think about. You—er—how did you know I was expected?"