"Excitable, and badly frightened," said Harding, and turned his head as the door opened to admit Basil Halliday.
Chapter Eleven
Halliday walked forward, glancing from Harding to the Sergeant, and back again. "Good afternoon," he said. "You want to ask me some questions, I think."
"Yes," Harding answered. "Sit down, will you, Mr. Halliday? You and your wife are guests in the house, I believe?"
"We came down for the week-end," replied Halliday, crossing one leg over the other. "In the ordinary course of events we should have gone back to town yesterday, but naturally that was impossible until this business had been cleared up. My home address is -"
"I have it here, Mr. Halliday," said Harding. "Had you known Sir Arthur for long?"
"No, we were quite recent acquaintances. We met at Nice, last winter. I had a temporary job that took me out to the South of France, and the Billington-Smiths were staying there during January and February. Lady Billington-Smith and my wife struck up a bit of a friendship. Then after we came home we rather lost sight of them, until my wife happened to run across Sir Arthur in town one day, and the acquaintance was picked up again." As he spoke he looked once or twice, as though compelled, at the Sergeant, and his brows twitched a little; he shifted his chair slightly to get out of the direct line of that paralysing stare.
Harding asked in his impersonal way: "When did you last see Sir Arthur alive, Mr. Halliday?"
"On Monday morning," replied Halliday promptly. "I saw him in his study about twelve o'clock. I'm not sure of the exact time, but it must have been about then. It's best that I should be quite frank with you, Inspector, so I'll tell you at once that Sir Arthur and I had — most unfortunately, as it turns out — a disagreement."
"A quarrel, Mr. Halliday?"