"But I do say so. I've just said so," retorted Inspector Seldon irritably. He was angry at the fact that the information, whether true or false, had gone direct to Scotland Yard instead of reaching him first.
"When was he murdered, sir?" asked Flack.
"Last night—when you were on that beat."
Flack paled at this remark.
"Last night, sir?" he cried.
"Don't repeat my words like a parrot," ejaculated the inspector peevishly. "Didn't you notice anything suspicious when you were along there?"
"No, sir. Was he murdered in his own house?"
"His dead body is supposed to be lying there now in the library," said
Inspector Seldon. "How Scotland Yard got wind of it is more than I know.
We ought to have heard of it before them. How many times did you go along
there last night?"
"Twice, sir. About eleven o'clock, and then about three."
"And there was nothing suspicious—you saw no one?"