“We had some people in for Bridge. I didn't leave the house again until next day, when we came here.”
“Thank you.” Hannasyde was jotting something down in his notebook. His tone conveyed nothing.
Lupton looked anxiously at him. “I don't know if there's anything more you want to know, or if I can go? My wife will be —”
“No, there is nothing more at present,” said Hannasyde.
Henry Lupton got up. “Then—?”
“By all means,” said Hannasyde.
The little man withdrew, and Giles came away from the window, where he had been standing, and said: “Poor devil! What a mess to have got himself into! You don't like his story?”
“I don't like his alibi.”
“Which one? Oh, Gladys Smith! I should think he probably did go there. Vague idea of seeking comfort. Rather pathetic.”
“Anyway, she'll swear he was with her,” Hannasyde said.