The old man shook his head. “No, Inspector. I’ve noticed nothing at all unusual, nothing that could possibly touch his death. The scene this morning came as a terrible shock to me. And as terrible by reason of its utter unexpectedness as by reason of its horror.”
“How much money did Prescott lose last night, Sir Charles?”
“Really, I’ve no idea! But nothing worth worrying about—you can set your mind easy on that point. I shouldn’t allow it—in Considine Manor.”
The Inspector raised his eyebrows.
“Then, in light of your answer, you may be surprised to know that there was some pretty high playing at Considine Manor last night.”
The eyes of our host flashed with his reply. “Very surprised and exceedingly annoyed. Had I known, had I had the slightest inkling—you are certain of what you are stating—pardon me?”
“I make that statement, Sir Charles, on unimpeachable authority.”
“Dear, dear! This news disturbs me profoundly.”
The old man’s appearance confirmed the truth of this last statement. This unexpected revelation, following upon the shock of the murder, had made its mark upon his countenance. He huddled himself into a chair. Then braced himself to ask another question.
“Was Prescott playing high?”