"No. My daughter was sitting with me."
To a quick ear it may have seemed that the answer was a trifle long in coming.
Merrington shook his head irritably. Really, it seemed impossible to reach the end of the people who were in this infernal moat-house at the time of the murder.
"Does your daughter live with you here?" he asked.
"Oh, no. She came to see me yesterday afternoon, and stayed all night because she missed her train back after—after the tragedy."
"Is she here now?"
"No. She went away by an early train. She is employed as a milliner at Stading, the market town, which is ten miles away."
"She lives there, I suppose?"
"Yes. She lives in."
"Who is her employer?"