Cargill seemed to see that he had hardly approached the matter in a tactful manner.
“I'm a bit sore at present, and perhaps I sounded peevish. But it's enough to make one lose one's rag a bit, I think. Here's what happened. This evening, after dinner, I strolled across the bay to pay a visit to my friend Fordingbridge at Flatt's cottage. We sat there for a while, playing cards; and then I thought I might as well be getting home again. So I said good-bye to them——”
“Who was there?” Sir Clinton interjected.
“Fordingbridge and Billingford,” Cargill replied. “I said good-bye to them, and set off for home——”
“Did anyone see you off the premises?” the chief constable interrupted once more.
Cargill shook his head.
“I'm an old pal of Fordingbridge's, so he didn't trouble to come to the door with me. I put on my hat and coat and gave the cottage door a slam after me, to let them hear I was gone. Then I walked down that muddy path of theirs.”
“You didn't notice if anyone followed you?”
Cargill reflected for a moment.
“I didn't notice particularly, of course; but I can't think that anyone did. I mean I can't remember anything that suggests that to my memory, you understand?”