She turned violently on him:
“Why shouldn’t I say it? I’m not afraid. I was the only person outside and it couldn’t have been me.” She faced round on Rawson. “Nobody could think that. Ask them—these people. They’ll tell you.”
“That’s not at all necessary, Mrs. Stokes.” Rawson was mild and suave. “Now if you’ll try to be calm——”
“Calm, calm,” she groaned and bent almost double, dropping her face into her hands. Stokes got up, chalk-white in the lamplight:
“My wife’s pretty well knocked out, Mr. Rawson.”
“Quite understandable, Mr. Stokes. We won’t trouble her any more just now. And if the rest of you ladies and gentlemen will refrain from saying what you think or offering suggestions we’ll get on a good deal quicker.”
Stokes took his chair. Flora raised herself and dropped against the back of hers with upraised chin and closed eyes. Bassett had a photographic impression of Williams, striking softly on his teeth with his fountain pen and looking at her.
They went on to Stokes who was very clear and composed. He had walked about—down the path to the pine wood and round that end of the house. It was absolutely still and he had heard nobody. He was not sure of the direction of the shot as he had been reading a paper at the time. Like the rest of them he had had no suspicion of anything serious or, of course, he would have investigated.
Everybody else was in the house. Bassett indicated their positions, pointing them out as he explained their whereabouts.
Miss Saunders’ movements followed. She had spent the earlier part of the evening sitting on the cliffs with Miss Tracy. Miss Tracy had left her some time after six, Miss Saunders saying she would follow but wanted to see the end of the sunset. No one had seen her come back but she had come back, for shortly before seven Mrs. Cornell had noticed her leaving the house.