"Your daughter——" he began.
"My ward," corrected Mr. Farrington, as he switched on all the lights of his sitting-room, "she is out—in fact she is staying the night with my friend Lady Constance Dex—do you know her?"
T. B. nodded.
"I can only give you the most meagre information," said Mr. Farrington. He was white and shaky, a natural state for a law-abiding man who had witnessed wilful murder. "I heard voices and went down to the door, thinking I would find a policeman—then I heard two shots almost simultaneously, and opened the door and found the two men as they were found by the policeman."
"What were they talking about?"
Mr. Farrington hesitated.
"I hope I am not going to be dragged into this case as a witness?" he asked, rather than asserted, but received no encouragement in the spoken hope from T. B. Smith.
"They were discussing that notorious man, Montague Fallock," said the millionaire; "one was threatening to betray him to the police."
"Yes," said T. B. It was one of those "yesses" which signified understanding and conviction.
Then suddenly he asked: