"I've always wanted to be in on a real murder," remarked Sally thoughtfully. "How was he killed?"
"He had his head smashed," replied Neville.
Helen gave a moan, but her sister nodded with all the air of a connoisseur. "A blow from a blunt instrument," she said. "Any idea who did it?"
"No, but Helen may have."
Helen lifted her head. "I tell you I wasn't there!"
"Your shoes belie you, sweet."
"Yes, yes, but not when he was killed! I wasn't, I tell you, I wasn't!"
The monocle dropped out of Miss Drew's eye. She screwed it in again, bending a searching gaze upon her sister. "What do you mean - "yes, but not when he was killed"? Have you been round to Greystones tonight?"
Helen seemed uncertain how to answer, but after a moment she said: "Yes. Yes, I did go round to see Ernie.
I - I got sick of the noise of your typewriter, for one thing, and, for another, I - I wanted particularly to see him." "Look here!" said Sally, "you may as well spill it now as later! - what is there between you and Ernie F'letcher?"