Francis looked rather white. "My God!" he said. He put his hand into his pocket and mechanically drew out his thin gold cigarette-case and opened it. The fingers that groped for a cigarette were just a trifle unsteady "What an appalling thing!" he said.
Geoffrey eyed him with resentment. "Yes, and it's damned sight more appalling for us than for you, let mo tell you. You weren't here. We were."
Francis shut his case and tapped his cigarette on it.
"Rather appalling for Uncle too — if you should happen to be looking at it in that light," he remarked. "Poor old chap!"
"Naturally we all feel that," said Halliday, shuffling and reshuffling the cards. "It's a terrible tragedy. We're all most upset, and shocked."
Francis's faintly mocking glance lingered for moment on the Bridge-table. "I'm sure you must be," he said. "Quite shattered!"
"Hang it all, you needn't be so pious!" said Geoffrey firing up. "You weren't so damned fond of Father yourself."
Francis raised his brows. "On the contrary," he said." I was probably fonder of him than any of you. You would hardly believe it, but I'm almost distressed to think he's dead."
"Let's hope you won't be more distressed when the Will's read," replied Geoffrey.
"Oh, I hardly think so," said Francis. He struck a match, and lit his cigarette. "Does anybody know who murdered him, by the way?"