"All dogs howl," said Masters curtly. "It seems we've got a job of work. Let's go to the chap's room and take his pulse. Great work for the CID. Eh? If he's not satisfactorily in a stupor, we shall probably catch it from Sir Henry. This way."
Rainger's room was near the head of the staircase, just at the turn of the gallery in the comparatively modem part of the house. A light shone out over the transom, and the door was partly open. Almost instinctively Masters jerked back as he heard voices. One was a woman's and it choked something between sobs. The other was Emery's, shrill with a sort of wild patience.
"Now listen!" Emery urged. "I've been trying to tell you for five minutes-stop bawling, will you? You've got me so jittery I can't sit still. Quit it! If you've got anything to tell me, go on and tell it. I'm listening. Here, for God's sake have some of this-have a drink of gin, huh? Now, listen, Miss Umm — what'd you say your name was?"
"Beryl, sir. Beryl Symonds."
"All right! Now take it easy. What were you trying to say?"
The choking voice controlled itself. "I tried, sir, honestly I tried to tell the gentleman this afternoon, really I did, but he was so awful blued that all he did was make a g — grab for me. And I was going to tell him I couldn't tell the master, because of course the master w-wouldn't understand and I should simply get the s-sack"
"Look," said Emery. "Are you trying to tell me Carl made a pass at you? Is that it?"
"They said you were a friend of his, sir, and you won't make me tell! You mustn't. He told me this morning when I brought him his tea, `You was right'; that's what 'e said; `you was right!' I mean, for turning the key last night. And I told him what they was saying about the murder being done, and he turned a funny color first he was already getting blued, you see-and he come running after me, truly he did, pulling on a bathrobe and saying, `Good girl, good girl; well, if I come into this, you know where I was last night, don't you?' And I said, Yes. But —'
Masters knocked at the door and pushed it open with almost the same gesture.
Something that was probably sheer terror prevented the girl from screaming out. She jerked back and said, "Oh my God, it's the police!" It was Emory, white-faced and dishevelled, who leaped up from his chair, spilling a lurid-covered magazine out of his lap; and he choked back a nervous yelp just in time.