“Come, come, sir!” said Hobkirk.
“It's no use saying come, come, in that reproving way. No doubt, if Miss Warrenby had rushed in to tell you her uncle had been shot, you'd have taken note of the time: you're a policeman. The trouble is I'm not, and I didn't.”
“Ah!” said Hobkirk, pleased with this tribute to his superior ability. “That's where it comes in, doesn't it? It'll have to be established, you know, because it's very important circumstance.”
“Well, I daresay we can work it out,” said Miss Patterdale, pulling an old-fashioned gold watch out of her waistband, and consulting it. “It's ten past eight now—and I know that's right, because I set my watch by the wireless only this morning—and I should think we must have been here at least half an hour.”
“Twenty minutes at the outside,” interpolated Charles.
“It seems longer, but you may be right. When did Mavis reach us?”
“I haven't the ghost of an idea,” said Charles frankly. “I should make a rotten witness, shouldn't I? What a good job it is that I shan't be expected to know when the murder was committed!”
“I wouldn't say that, sir,” said Hobkirk darkly. “And when you found him, the deceased was sitting like he is now?”
“Hasn't moved an inch,” said Charles.
“Charles!” said Miss Patterdale. “This is not a moment for flippancy!”