"I think, if you don't mind, we'll stick to Inspector, Mr. Billington-Smith," said Harding unresponsively. "Will you sit down, please?"
"Oh, just as you like!" Geoffrey said, a trifle sulkily. He cast himself into the chair, and began to play with his tie again. "I'm quite ready to answer anything I can — er — Inspector. I expect you've seen my original statement, haven't you?"
"I have it here," replied Harding. "There are one or two things in it that I want you to explain."
"Well, I've nothing to add to it, really, but I'll explain anything you like," said Geoffrey handsomely. "Only, as a matter of fact, I don't see myself what more you could possibly want to know. I mean, considering I wasn't here when my father was killed -"
"Will you tell me, Mr. Billington-Smith, what sort of terms you were on with your father?" said Harding. interrupting this speech without ceremony.
"Look here, what on earth has that got to do with it," expostulated Geoffrey. "I keep on telling you I wasn't here when Father was murdered!"
A certain sternness made Harding's voice less pleasant all at once. "Mr. Billington-Smith, my time is limited. Will you have the goodness to answer the question?"
Geoffrey swallowed. "All right, but I still don't -" He saw the Inspector's face harden, and broke off. "Well, l suppose we didn't hit it off frightfully well. My father was absolutely hide-bound, you know. One just had to make allowances for him."
"When you say that you didn't hit it off, do you mean that you quarrelled?"
"Oh no, we didn't exactly quarrel. My father used to rave a bit at me, but I didn't quarrel with him, because as it happens I'm not the quarrelsome sort, and besides. it wasn't worth while."