"Don't you bother your head about me: I've made a study of murder. I may be able to help," said Sally.
"Like me," murmured Neville. "I tried to help, but no one was grateful."
A cold eye was bent upon him. "Bread of deceit is sweet to a man," said Glass. "But afterwards," he added forebodingly, "his mouth shall be filled with gravel."
Sally, having by this time satisfied herself that very little could be seen from behind the currant bush, emerged. "Is that out of the Bible?" she inquired. "Nearly all the best things are, except those that come out of Shakespeare. Can I go into the study, Neville?"
"Do!" he said cordially.
"What is your business here?" demanded Glass. "Why do you desire to enter that room?"
"I'm a novelist," explained Sally. "Crime stories."
"You were better at home," he said sombrely, but made no further attempt to stop her.
Followed by Neville, who had produced a Bible from his pocket, and was swiftly flicking the pages over, Sally entered the study, and stood just inside the window, looking round. Neville sat down on the edge of the desk, absorbed in his search through the Proverbs.
"Where was he found?" Sally said abruptly.