“It’s his body,” Quest replied. “He’s been murdered here, he and the Salvation Army girl who was to come this morning for her cheque.”
Laura turned away, half dazed.
“I’d have trusted Ross with my life,” Quest continued, “but he must have been alone in the house when the girl came. Do you suppose it was the usual sort of trouble?”
Inspector French stooped down and picked up the paper-weight. Across it was stamped the name of Sanford Quest.
“This yours, Quest?”
“Of course it is,” Quest answered. “Everything in the room is mine.”
“The girl would fight to defend herself,” the Inspector remarked slowly, “but she could never strike a man such a blow as your valet died from.”
Once more he stooped and picked up a small clock. It had stopped at eleven-fifteen. He looked at it thoughtfully.
“Quest,” he said, “I’ll have to ask you a question.”
“Why not?” Quest replied, looking quickly up.