“Where were you last night?” he asked.
“What's that got to do with you?” she retorted. “You're not going to try and make out Mr Roger was murdered, are you?”
“I am afraid I have a good deal of reason for thinking that he was,” replied Hannasyde. “He was found in his flat, early this morning, shot through the head.”
Murgatroyd's rosy cheeks turned quite pale. She took a step backwards, was stopped by a chair and sat down in it with a plump. “Oh, my goodness gracious me!” she gasped. “Whatever next? Of all the unnatural - I never did in all my born days!”
“And needless to say,” put in Kenneth, “the police think I did it.”
This brought her up out of the chair with a bounce. “Oh, they do, do they? Well, let me tell you,” she said, rounding upon Hannasyde, “that Mr Kenneth was at a dance all last night, as Miss Rivers here can swear to!”
“That wasn't what I asked you,” said Hannasyde quietly. “I want you tell me where you were.”
“At the Pictures,” she replied.
“Alone?”
“Yes, I was.”