“Surely you must have heard some conversation about it—the matter must have been discussed in your presence at one time or another?”
Miss Saverel shrugged her shoulders but said nothing.
“I’m afraid I must press you for an answer, Miss Saverel.”
“You can press as much as you like. Even if I knew anything I shouldn’t tell you; there is such a thing as being loyal to your employers.”
“Not in the eyes of the law, if it involves shielding criminals. Please think again, Miss Saverel.”
The girl merely shook her head. Poole could not help admiring her attitude; whether she was a guilty party or not she was playing the right game for her side. He tried a new and more direct attack.
“Then I must ask you something about yourself. This is quite a routine question, as a matter of fact—I have to ask it of everyone even remotely connected with the case; where were you on the evening of Thursday 24th October, between six and seven? That is roughly the time, I should tell you, at which Sir Garth Fratten was killed.”
Miss Saverel seemed not in the least disturbed by the question.
“I was here till six, anyhow,” she said. “I may have been here longer. I’ll have a look in my diary—it’s in the other room—you can come with me if you think I’m liable to bolt.”
Poole opened the door for her and watched her go down the passage and enter the small room next door; he heard Mr. Blagge speak to her and her reply; immediately afterwards she came out with a diary in her hand.