"That's Corkran's tale," said Fountain rather angrily. "All moonshine! I don't hold any brief for Collins, but…' He broke off, and reverting suddenly to his jovial manner began to talk about the coming ball.
The door opened softly and the valet came in carrying a tray of drinks. A chill, a feeling of uneasiness, seemed to enter with him. Fountain's voice sounded forced; Joan's laugh held a nervous ring. The valet moved noiselessly across the pile carpet to a table against the wall and set down the tray. He went out again as softly as he had come in. Amberley noticed that he shut the door with quiet firmness behind him.
He looked across at Fountain and said directly: "You don't like that man?"
The others showed some surprise at this sudden, unconventional question. Fountain stared back at Amberley, the laugh dying on his lips. He shook his head. "No. Not much. Shouldn't keep him, only that my uncle wished it."
"Do you know of any enmity between him and Dawson?"
"No. Don't think they hit it off particularly well, but I never saw anything of it."
"You don't think that - Collins had anything to do with it?" The question came from Joan.
"No, Miss Fountain. I only wanted to know."
"Well, he hadn't," said Fountain. "I happen to know that he was here at the time the murder was committed."
"You're quite sure of that, I suppose?" Amberley said.