“No, it didn’t! it didn’t! But when you don’t know anything, you always have to make up things. And half the time you’re all wrong. I wish you’d come home now. Next, you’ll be saying she shot him!”
“Ah ha!” Mrs. Witherby was triumphant. “It does look like it, doesn’t it? And I intend to remain here until I find out why she shot him—this Mr. Mills.”
Corinne gave a little moan and burst into tears. Howard rose abruptly and went to the verandah. He almost collided with Constable Marks, who pushed him aside and marched indoors.
“Here! What are you doing?” Howard asked the intruder, severely, and gripped him by the coat.
“’Ands orf!” Mr. Marks exhibited his badge “Horfcer of the law.”
“What is your business here?”
“Hi came about the shoofer as was shot.”
“How do you know the man was shot?” Mrs. Witherby wanted to know.
Constable Marks looked at her, as a brilliant intellect may regard a sample of crass stupidity.
“Who’d know better, Hi’d like to know, than me wot shot ’im? But Hi didn’t get ’is nyme.”