Again Llewellyn’s answer came quickly. “After dinner, Mr. Stewart intimated to me that he was going into the library with Colonel Leach-Fletcher—and that he wouldn’t require anything further from me. I think that he had something to discuss with the Colonel, who is a keen collector like Mr. Stewart—was. I was free to do as I pleased.”
“What did you do?”
“I spent the rest of the evening with Miss Lennox in the music-room.”
“What time would that be?”
“From about half-past eight till ten o’clock, I should say!”
Clegg made a note of the times. “One more question, Mr. Llewellyn! Did you go straight to bed after that?”
“I did. I was in bed, I should think, by half-past ten.”
“Now think very carefully, Mr. Llewellyn. Did you at any time during the evening or during the night hear anything like a revolver shot?”
Llewellyn started up in his chair, stung by surprise. “Certainly not!”
Clegg glanced at Stewart. “Confirms your statement, Mr. Stewart. I can’t think myself that the shot was fired in here. The fact of the revolver being in your father’s pocket—not in his hand—the fact that there is a complete absence of any signs of a struggle—both those facts seem to me to point to the shot having been fired elsewhere—at some other time.”