Impressed, the policeman made way for her, and then continued his questioning.
“Who’s in command here?” he said. “Who’s nearest of kin?”
At the first question, Miss Prall stepped forward, but at the second, she fell back in favor of Richard Bates.
“I am,” Bates said, quietly. “He is my uncle, Sir Herbert Binney.”
Further statistics were ascertained and then the police began actual investigation. The detective was the smallest and least conspicuous man of the three, and his unassuming air and somewhat stupid-looking face would have carried a conviction of his utter incompetency, save for his alert, darting black eyes, that seemed to look in several directions at once, so rapidly did they roll about.
Corson was his name, and he asked questions so quickly and so continuously that he scarce waited for answers.
“Where had he been?” he flung out. “Who saw him come in? Who was on door duty? What’s your name? Moore? Well, did you admit this man?”
“No,” said Bob Moore, “I was up in the elevator taking one of the tenants to his floor. There’s only me on, late at night.”
But Corson seemed unheeding. Already he had turned to Miss Prall.
“Does this man live with you? Did he, I mean. Where did he set out for when he left home? What time did he go?”