Wendover could make nothing of the man. For all he could see, Billingford might be genuinely surprised to hear of Staveley's death. But, if he were, his emotion at the loss of a friend could hardly be called excessive.
The inspector put his next question.
“Did you know if Staveley had gone out to meet anyone last night?”
Billingford's eyes contracted momentarily at this question. Wendover got the impression of a man on his guard, and thinking hard while he talked.
“Meeting anyone? Staveley? No, I can't say I remember his saying anything about it to me. He went out some time round about ten o'clock. But I thought he'd just gone for a turn in the fresh air. We'd been smoking a lot, and the room was a bit stuffy.”
The inspector jotted something in his note-book before asking his next question.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Billingford?”
Billingford's face assumed a bland expression.
“Me? Oh, I'm a commission agent.”
“Do you mean a commercial traveller?” Armadale demanded.