'No. I have not your aunt's address in Cheltenham.'
Brenda looked at the clock upon the mantelpiece, a reliable mechanism, which kept remarkable time considering its feminine environments.
'Mrs. Wylie will be here in a moment; we will then consider about the telegram. In the meantime ... tell me when it happened, and how?'
'It happened at two o'clock this morning ... suddenly.'
Brenda looked up at the last word, although it was spoken quite gently.
'Suddenly...?'
'Yes. It ... he shot himself with a revolver ... by accident!'
The man's gentle inscrutable eyes fell before Brenda's gaze. He moved uneasily, and turned away, apparently much interested in the ornaments upon the mantelpiece.
'Were you present at the time?'
'No. I was downstairs. He was in his bedroom.'