"Then you never knew of an enemy he might have had? I mean, somebody not in your circle, whom you had never met?"
"Good Lord, No!"
"I asked that," Hadley went on, "because of the circumstances surrounding his death. According to Inspector Murch, who has the testimony of his valet and cook, this is what happened… "
He rustled his papers. "His valet, Raymond Storer, says that he came back to the Guest House about seven o'clock, after having been out to tea—"
"Had it with us," grunted the colonel. "We were all pretty bucked about the news: his daughter and my son, I mean. He'd got a letter from her the day before, and he and I talked it over night before last. So he came up to tea yesterday and told the whole crowd."
"Did he seem in good spirits?"
"Good Lord, yes. Tickled pink."
Hadley’s eyes narrowed. "Did anything occur, then, while he was with you that — upset him?"
Standish had taken out a cigar, and he was lighting it when an uneasy thought seemed to strike him. He screwed round his neck and looked somewhat malevolently at the bishop.
"Hey… Look here, I've thought of something!" His boiled eye protruded. "He did seem down in the dumps when he left, by Jove. And that was just after you took him aside and spoke to him. Eh?"