"Better tell her, Mr. Bent," whispered the sergeant. "No use keeping it back, sir—she'll have to know."
"The fact is," said Bent, "Mr. Kitely—we're afraid—has been murdered."
The girl turned sharply at that; her eyes dilated, and a brighter tinge of colour came into her cheeks.
"Murdered!" she exclaimed. "Shot?"
Her eyes went past Bent to a corner of the room, and Brereton, following them, saw that there stood a gun, placed amongst a pile of fishing-rods and similar sporting implements. Her glance rested on it for only the fraction of a second; then it went back to Bent's face.
"I'd better tell you everything," said Bent quietly. "Mr. Kitely has been strangled. And the piece of cord with which it was done is—so the police here say—just such a piece as might have been cut off one of the cords which your father uses in his trade, you know."
"We aren't suggesting aught, you know, Miss Avice," remarked the sergeant. "Don't go for to think that—at present. But, you see, Harborough, he might have one o' those cords hanging about somewhere, and—do you understand?"
The girl had become very quiet, looking steadily from one man to the other. Once more her eyes settled on Bent.
"Do you know why Kitely was killed?" she asked suddenly. "Have you seen any reason for it?"
"He had been robbed, after his death," answered Bent. "That seems absolutely certain."