"Well, obviously he had, hadn't he?"
"Yes, sir, but what I'm trying to establish -'
"I know, but you see I'm just as much at a loss as you are. You weren't acquainted with my uncle?"
"I can't say as I was, sir."
Neville blew one smoke ring through another, and watched it dreamily. "Everybody called him Ernie," he sighed. "Or Ernie dear, according to sex. You see?"
The Sergeant stared for a moment, and then said slowly: "I think I get you, sir. I've always heard him well spoken of, I'm bound to say. I take it you don't know of any person with a grudge against him?"
Neville shook his head. The Sergeant looked at him rather discontentedly, and consulted Glass's notebook. "I see you state that after you left the dining-room you went into the billiard-room, where you remained until Miss Fletcher came to find you. At what hour would that have been?"
Neville smiled apologetically.
"You don't know, sir? No idea at all? Try and think!"
"Alas, time has hitherto meant practically nothing to me. Does it help if I say that my aunt mentioned that a most peculiar visitor was with my uncle? A fat little man, who carried his hat in his hand. She had seen him in the hall."