She gave him back look for look, but said nothing. The two dogs, who had been snarling softly all the time, created a diversion by attempting to lunge suddenly at each other's throats. Shirley twisted the bull-terrier's leash round her hand and stepped back. "I mustn't wait any longer," she said. "I have some shopping to do. Goodbye."
Joan watched her walk away down the street. "What a queer sort of a girl!" she remarked.
"Oh, I don't know! Rather nice, I thought," said Felicity. "Look here, we can't stand here for ever. I've got to go to Thompson's and Crewett's. Come with me? Frank, for God's sake hold on to Wolf. I shan't be more than five minutes."
Left to their own devices the two men began to stroll down the street together.
"I say, Amberley, there's something damned odd about this murder," Anthony said.
"Well, don't tell it to the whole of the town," recommended the rudest man in London.
"Yes, but joking apart, you know, why should anyone want to take a pot-shot at a butler? Respectable old blighter, been at the manor umpteen years. The thing just isn't done. I mean, I could think of a lot of people who might get shot - gangsters, and cabinet ministers, and all. that push — but not butlers. After all, why shoot a butler? Where's the point?"
"I've no idea," said Frank discouragingly.
"There isn't one," Anthony declared. "That's what makes the thing look so fishy. I'll tell you what,
Amberley; it's all very fine to read about mysteries, but in real life - no. Cut 'em right out."