‘I don’t know. I’d tell you in a minute if I knew. But he’s one of those that keep themselves to themselves.’
‘Do you know if he has ever committed a murder?’
‘Never!’ said Miss Spencer, with righteous repudiation of the mere idea.
‘But Mr Dimmock was murdered. He was poisoned. If he had not been poisoned why was his body stolen? It must have been stolen to prevent inquiry, to hide traces. Tell me about that.’
‘I take my dying oath,’ said Miss Spencer, standing up a little way from the table, ‘I take my dying oath I didn’t know Mr Dimmock was dead till I saw it in the newspaper.’
‘You swear you had no suspicion of it?’
‘I swear I hadn’t.’
Nella was inclined to believe the statement. The woman and the girl looked at each other in the tawdry, frowsy, lamp-lit room. Miss Spencer nervously patted her yellow hair into shape, as if gradually recovering her composure and equanimity. The whole affair seemed like a dream to Nella, a disturbing, sinister nightmare. She was a little uncertain what to say. She felt that she had not yet got hold of any very definite information. ‘Where is Prince Eugen now?’ she asked at length.
‘I don’t know, miss.’
‘He isn’t in this house?’