"Certainly. I have just come from there." I kept my eyes on him closely, watching every gesture and expression.
"Good God!" he cried next, throwing up his hands, as if the significance of the news were just breaking in upon him. He acted well, but could not meet my eyes. "Tell me all about it."
"The police will tell you. They are at the house."
"Of course they would be," he said, keeping his head bent. Then, after a slight pause: "Have they any clue to the thing?"
"Yes. They know who did it."
I spoke very sharply, and the unexpectedness of the reply startled him out of the part he was playing. He glanced up quickly, his face pale and his eyes full of fear. "Whom do they suspect?"
"They do not suspect. They know," I replied, emphasizing the last word.
Alarm robbed him of the power of speech for the instant, "I'm glad to hear that," he said quite huskily. "Who was it?"
"Some of Ziegler's shady political associates. They were seen at the house."
His sigh of relief was too deep to escape me; it came straight from his heart. Before he answered he took out his case and lighted a cigarette. "By Jove, the news has shaken me up; see how my hand trembles." Cool, to draw pointed attention to his own agitation.