"Very silent, your companion?" he said grimly. "Get away from that door."
She stood her ground, but she was obviously frightened. "Will you please go? You have no business to molest me in this fashion!"
His hand shot out and grasped her wrist. He jerked her somewhat roughly away from the door and peered in. A man was sitting in the driver's seat, curiously immobile. His head was sunk on his chest. He did not look up or speak.
The girl's hand shook in Mr. Amberley's hold, which had slowly tightened on it. The figure at the wheel did not move.
"Oh!" said Mr. Amberley. "I see."
"Let me go!" she said fiercely. "I - it - I didn't do it."
He retained his grasp on her wrist, but he was looking :it the dead man. The clothing, a dark lounge suit, was disarranged, as though someone had rifled the pockets; the striped shirt was stained with red, and a dark stain ran down the front of the waistcoat.
Mr. Amberley put out his free hand to touch the slack one inside the car. He did not appear to feel any repulsion. "Not cold," he said. "Well?"
"If you think I did it you're wrong," she said. "I found him like it. I tell you I wasn't even here!"
He ran his hand down over her coat, feeling for a possible weapon. She began to struggle, but found that she was quite powerless in his grip. His hand encountered something hard in the right pocket. Without ceremony he pulled out a small automatic.