"Yes, I found him, but I'm afraid I can't tell you much about it," Amberley replied.
Fountain clipped the end of his cigar. There was trouble in his face; he looked all at once like a man who cannot shake off the memory of a bad nightmare. "I know," he said. "He was shot, wasn't he? You didn't see anyone or find anything? Any clue, I mean."
"No," Amberley answered. "Nothing."
Joan leaned forward. "I wish you would tell us just what you saw," she said. "The police gave us such a bald account, and we feel in a way responsible, because he was our servant."
"Yes, tell us what you can," said Anthony, "and then no more." He smiled across at Joan. "It's no use worrying so much, darling. Much better not think about it."
Fountain looked at him with quick impatience. "It's not easy to forget the murder of one of your own staff," he said. "You take it very lightly, but he was not your servant. It is a most horrible thing to have happened." He gave a little shiver. "I can't get it out of my mind. The fellow being done to death like that —-cold-bloodedly!" He seemed to feel Amberley's gaze upon him and looked up. "You think I'm taking it too hard? Perhaps I am. I don't deny it has upset me." He struck a match and held it to the end of his cigar; Amberley saw the flame quiver. "I can't make out what happened," Fountain said jerkily. "The police spoke of road-bandits. Was he robbed?"
Corkran, one eye on Joan's pale, anxious face, chose to be flippant. "Robbed? Of course he was. I bet a bob you find out that he was making off with the family plate. I say, where is this damned draught coming from?" He looked round and saw that the door was standing ajar. He made as if to get up, but Fountain was before him.
"Don't bother, I'll shut it," he said and walked heavily across the floor towards it. He glanced out into the hall before he shut the door, and Anthony, observing this, said suspiciously that he supposed that fellow Collins was prowling about as usual.
Fountain looked annoyed, but shook his head. "No. But we'd better not talk so loud. Naturally the servants are agog with curiosity." He glanced at Amberley. "Can't blame 'em, can one?"
"I think," said Amberley slowly, "that I might steel myself to the pitch of blaming a servant whom I found listening at keyholes."