She swallowed. “No. Of course not. Which is why I should think you really left The Cedars earlier than ten to seven. Time's so deceptive, and when you've got no particular reason for looking at your watch . . .” Her voice tailed off uncertainly and she did not finish the sentence.
“And did you happen to notice what the time was when you saw Mr. Lindale down in the water-meadow, madam?” asked Hemingway, his eyes not on her face, but on her husband's.
Lindale looked up quickly. “What's this?”
“Kenelm, you know I told you I'd caught sight of you from the attic window!”
If Lindale felt exasperation, no hint of it appeared in his face. He put an arm round Delia's shoulders, and hugged her slightly. “You silly kid!” he said. “You mustn't try to mislead the police, you know: you'll get had up for being an accessory after the fact, won't she, Chief Inspector?”
“Well, I might charge her with trying to obstruct me in the execution of my duties,” agreed Hemingway.
Lindale laughed. “Hear that? Now, you go and attend to Rose-Veronica before you get yourself into trouble! She was making a spirited attempt to tip the pram up when I came in.”
“But, Kenelm—”
“You don't want my wife, do you, Chief Inspector?” Lindale interrupted.
“No, sir, not at the moment.”