"Quite," said Dr. Fell. He jerked a thumb towards the house. "This valet fellow — is he there now?"
Standish had been looking at him with a correct concealment of surprise which thus made itself evident. He had clearly expected Donovan to be a young police official of some description, and he was jarred a little to see Dr. Fell was the man in charge.
"Yes," he said. "Would you care to go in? The cook,
Achille, refused to stay. He says there are ghosts in the house. But Storer will stay as long as he is needed."
"No hurry" said Dr. Fell easily. He indicated the few steps which led up to the side entrance of the veranda. "Sit down, Mr. Standish. Make yourself comfortable. Smoke?"
"Surely," observed the bishop, "if we went inside—"
"Rubbish," said Dr. Fell. He settled matters by lowering himself with some difficult on an ornamental bench opposite. Morley Standish, with an expression of great gravity, sat down on the steps and produced a pipe. For a time Dr. Fell was silent, poking at the brick wall with his stick, and wheezing with the labor of having sat down. Then he said with an off-hand air:
"Who do you think killed Depping, Mr. Standish?"
At this unorthodox beginning the bishop folded his arms and looked resigned. It was curiously as though Dr. Fell were on trial, sitting there big and abstracted, with the birds bickering in the trees behind him. Morley Standish looked at him with slightly closed eyes.
"Why," he said, "I don't suppose there's much doubt of that, is there? The chap who came to visit him — the one with the American accent—?" He frowned inquiringly.