“Miss Lloyd,” I began, “I am, as you know, a detective; and I am here in Sedgwick for the purpose of discovering the cowardly assassin of your uncle. I assume that you wish to aid me in any way you can. Am I right in this?”
Instead of the unhesitating affirmative I had expected, the girl spoke irresolutely. “Yes,” she said, “but I fear I cannot help you, as I know nothing about it.”
The fact that this reply did not sound to me as a rebuff, for which it was doubtless intended, I can only account for by my growing appreciation of her wonderful beauty.
Instead of funereal black, Miss Lloyd was clad all in white, and her simple wool gown gave her a statuesque appearance; which, however, was contradicted by the pathetic weariness in her face and the sad droop of her lovely mouth. Her helplessness appealed to me, and, though she assumed an air of composure, I well knew it was only assumed, and that with some difficulty.
Resolving to make it as easy as possible for her, I did not ask her to repeat the main facts, which I already knew.
“Then, Miss Lloyd,” I said, in response to her disclaimer, “if you cannot help me, perhaps I can help you. I have reason to think that possibly Louis, your late uncle's valet, did not tell the truth in his testimony at the coroner's inquest. I have reason to think that instead of going around the house to the back entrance as he described, he went around the other side, thus passing your uncle's office.”
To my surprise this information affected Miss Lloyd much more seriously than I supposed it would.
“What?” she said, and her voice was a frightened whisper. “What time did he come home?”
“I don't know,” I replied; “but you surely don't suspect Louis of anything wrong. I was merely hoping, that if he did pass the office he might have looked in, and so could tell us of your uncle's well-being at that time.”
“At what time?”