“Yes. There were just the four of us. Charles did not return for dinner.”
“And after dinner?”
Marjorie flashed him a searching—penetrating glance. “Do you mean what did I do after dinner or——”
“If you please, miss.” The Sergeant became acutely aware of his constitutional chivalry, but sternly suppressed it.
“I came in here. It is my usual practice after dinner. Uncle Laurence used to like me to play to him—he was passionately fond of music. But last night he went into the library.”
“Did you stay in here for the rest of the evening?”
“Yes—no—no, I’m wrong! It was about nine o’clock when I left here.”
She amended her statement with the utmost composure and Clegg couldn’t be sure if she had made a genuine mistake or was desirous of concealing something. But he remembered Llewellyn’s story and the two didn’t tally! Llewellyn had made no mention of Miss Lennox having left the music-room at nine o’clock! He had stated that he spent the remainder of the evening with her. Now—according to Marjorie Lennox—he had been alone for an hour. That is to say there was at least one hour of his time for which he had not accounted. Now Clegg was slow-moving and inspiration visited him but seldom, but he took care, and he quickly came to the conclusion that hereabouts in his inquiry extreme care would be necessary if he were to achieve any success. He decided to hasten slowly.
“Where did you go then, Miss Lennox?” he followed up.
“To my room. My uncle was still engaged with Colonel Leach-Fletcher in the library, and I didn’t wish to disturb them.”