Sir Clinton’s smile took the edge off Marden’s reply.
“Oh, I think one might make a guess,” he said, “if one kept one’s eyes open. A terrified man would give himself away somehow or other.”
“Then either he wasn’t afraid or else I don’t keep my eyes open. I saw nothing of the sort.”
Sir Clinton reflected for a moment or two. He glanced at Armadale.
“Any more questions you’d like to put? No? Then that will do, Marden. Of course there’ll be an inquest and your evidence will be required at it. You can stay on here until you’re needed. I’ll see Miss Chacewater about it. But for the present you’ve given us all the help you can?”
“Unless you’ve any more questions you want to ask,” Marden suggested.
Sir Clinton shook his head.
“No, I think I’ve got all I need for the present, thanks. I may want you again later on, of course.”
Marden waited for nothing further, but left the room pursued by a slightly vindictive glance from Inspector Armadale. When he had disappeared, Sir Clinton turned to Michael Clifton.
“Hadn’t you better go back to Joan, now? She must be rather nervous after this shock.”