She gave a gasp. "Not. Oh, Neville! Oh, let me go to him at once!"
"No use. Besides, you mustn't. Terribly sorry, but there it is. I'm a trifle knocked-up myself."
"Neville, you're keeping something back!"
"Yes. He's been murdered."
Her pale, rather prominent blue eyes stared at him. She opened her mouth, but no words passed her lips. Neville, acutely uncomfortable, made a vague gesture with his hands. "Can I do anything? I should like to, only I don't know what. Do you feel faint? Yes, I know I'm being incompetent, but this isn't civilised, any of it. One has lost one's balance."
She said: 'Ernie murdered? I don't believe it!"
"Oh, don't be silly," he said, betraying ragged nerves. "A man doesn't bash his own skull in."
She gave a whimper, and groped her way to the nearest chair, and sank into it. Neville lit a cigarette with a hand that trembled, and said: "Sorry, but you had to know sooner or later."
She seemed to be trying to collect her wits. After a pause she exclaimed: "But who would want to murder dear Ernie?"
"Search me."