“That circumstance does not, however, make me his murderer.”
“Oh no! I did not mean—but it seems so strange that you should both be in Queen Charlton!”
“I thought it tiresome, myself. My errand to Queen Charlton did not in any way concern Beverley Brandon.”
“Of course not! I didn’t suppose—Sir, since you didn’t kill him, and I didn’t, who—who did, do you suppose? For he did not merely trip and fall, did he? There is that bruise on his forehead, and he was lying face upwards, just as you saw him. Someone struck him down!”
“Yes, I think someone struck him down,” agreed Sir Richard.
“I suppose you do not know who it might have been, sir?”
“I wonder?” Sir Richard said thoughtfully.
Piers waited, but as Sir Richard said no more, but stood looking frowningly down at Beverley’s body, he blurted out: “What ought I to do? Really, I do not know! I have no experience in such matters. Perhaps you could advise me?”
“I do not pretend to any very vast experience myself, but I suggest that you should go home.”
“But we can’t leave him here—can we?”