She put the coat down. "Blood I shall have to burn it."
He turned a sickly colour and grasped at the edge of the table. "What - what happened?" he said. "You didn't you didn't use the gun, did you?"
"I didn't have to. He was dead."
"Dead?" he repeated stupidly. "What do you mean - dead?"
"Shot. So you see it wasn't such a red herring after all."
He sat down, still staring. "Gosh!" he said again. He seemed to make an effort to pull himself together. "Who did it?"
"I don't know. It looks fairly obvious though. His pockets had been searched, so whoever shot him must have known about this meeting. Anyway they didn't get it."
"How do you know?"
"He hadn't got it with him. He just managed to tell me that. Had cold feet, I suppose, and didn't dare carry it on him."
He stretched out his hand across the table and clumsily patted hers. "Sorry, Sis. Loathsome for you. Poor old girl!"