“Well, all I can say is I hope they don't come,” said Stella unconvinced.
“I don't suppose they will,” said Mr Rumbold.
But at ten o'clock on Monday morning Beecher went to the store-room in search of Miss Matthews, and in ominous silence held out a silver tray with a visiting-card reposing on it.
The card bore the name of Detective-Superintendent Hannasyde, of the Criminal Investigation Department, New Scotland Yard. Miss Matthews gave a startled gasp, and dropped it as though it were red-hot.
“I've shown them into the library, miss,” said Beecher.
Chapter Four
There were three people in the library. One was a middle-aged man, with grizzled hair, and eyes deep-set in a square, good-humoured countenance; the second was a thin man with a clipped moustache, and a very thin neck; the third was Dr Fielding. As Miss Matthews entered the room, clinging to her nephew's arm, the doctor stepped forward, and said in a grave voice: “Miss Matthews, I am sorry to say that things are more serious than I had supposed. This is Superintendent Hannasyde, of Scotland Yard; and this,” he added, indicating the man with the moustache, “is Inspector Davis, from the Police Station here.”
Miss Matthews looked at the Superintendent much as she might have looked at a boa-constrictor, and said Good-morning in a frightened whisper. The local Inspector she ignored.
“Good morning,” Hannasyde said pleasantly. “Inspector Davis and I have come to ask you one or two questions about your brother's death.”
“You surely aren't going to tell us that he really was poisoned?” exclaimed Guy. “I don't believe it! Why on earth should anyone want to poison him?”