"Close to eleven o'clock, as I remember it."
"Oh, make it earlier," said H. M. in a plaintive tone. "Burn me, I got to get some sleep! I'd like to stick to the poetic rules, but I got to think of my constitution. Say-well, all right. Eleven o'clock it is. It'll give Masters time to eat and take a nap before he comes back. And a little after eleven it's just possible I may be able to introduce you to the murderer… We're goin' to have another moonlight tour of this room. We're goin' to reproduce the scene of the attempted pushin' down the stairs. I've got high hopes of my little playlet."
Masters, who had been shifting meditatively from one foot to the other, stiffened. H. M. had spoken so casually that it was a second before they reaized the meaning of his words.
"Is this another joke, sir?" said the Chief Inspector quickly. "Or do you really mean-'
"Sure I mean it."
"And the person who finally killed Miss Tait is one of that group of five who went with her to look at the staircase last night?"
"Uh-huh. That's what I mean."
Bennett, who was enumerating the group in his own mind with a greater sense of uneasiness than he had yet felt, looked round at Katharine. She made a gesture as though to protest. They all jumped a little as the last of the newspaper-men's cars ground into gear with a protesting squawk, and Inspector Potter's parting bellow sounded from the drive below. H. M., who was scowlingly tapping one finger against the end of his nose, seemed to be struck with an idea. He got up and lumbered to the far window in the side wall, which overlooked the end of the porte-cochere. A blast of freezing air rattled papers on the table as H. M. unlocked the leaves of the window and pushed them open.
"Hey!" said H. M.
Inspector Potter appeared dimly in the driveway below.