“About half-past nine, I think, someone came to the door. Staveley got up and went to see who it was. I heard him say: ‘Oh, it's you, is it?’ or words to that effect—as if he'd been taken by surprise. Then I heard a woman's voice say something. I didn't catch the words. And when Staveley replied, he dropped his voice. They talked for a bit, and then he shut the door.”
“And after that? Did you find out who the woman was?”
“Not I. Some local piece, I expect. Staveley was always a good hand at getting hold of them. He'd a sort of way with him, and could get round them in no time. Made kind of hobby of it. Overdid it, to my mind.”
“What happened after that?”
“Nothing much that I remember. We played some more poker, and then Staveley began grousing about the stuffiness of the place. Mostly his own fault, too. Those cigars of his were pretty heavy. So he went out for some fresh air.”
“When was that?”
“Ten o'clock. I told you before. Perhaps 10.15. I can't be sure to a minute.”
“And then?”
“I felt a bit wakeful. I lose a lot of sleep some nights. So I thought I'd go for a turn along the shore and see if that would cure it.”
“When did you leave the house?”