'To clinch it," said H.M., "here's a final bit of your story. You tell in this record (Oh, lord love a duck!) about how Dr. Laurier ran out on the terrace, and the constable came up. Now you're speakin', son."
And they saw, through Puckston's eyes, the scene played against the white facade.
Dr. Laurier said something, and Bert picked up Sir George's binoculars and walked into the house. Dr. Laurier said something else, and Lady Brayle came out with some kind of cloth. I said aloud, 'The bastard is dead.'
Puckston stared at a salt-cellar on the frayed white-and-yellow cloth.
"I never made no bones about what I thought of him. Maybe I oughtn't to have said that, with the hymns tonight and all. But that's how I felt. And still do."
H.M. held up a hand for silence.
Dr. Laurier put the cloth over his head. Lady Fleet came out and started to faint, but they talked to her a while and she went in. The governess and the boy came round the house then, but Dr. Laurier yelled so loud you could hear to go back. Dr. Laurier made as if he was examining all over Sir George. I did not see anybody at the windows. Bert came out and seemed to argue with Dr. Laurier about who carried Sir George. Bert took his head in the cloth and Dr. Laurier took his legs. They carried him in the house. Lady Fleet came out again once and looked up. That was all I saw before I slid down.
Puckston smote the table.
"And there's not a word of a lie in that," he insisted. "Simon could—"
"Sure, son. I know. It agrees with what Simon Frew said, and the other fellers who were farther down on the roof. But, considering what I've read, can you tell me more about the pink flash now?"