“Let me understand,” Brett said at last. “I think I have it in my notes that at the time of the murder you were twenty-seven, Sir Alan twenty-four, and Mrs. Capella twenty-six?”
“That is so, approximately. We were born respectively in January, October, and December. My twenty-seventh birthday fell on the 11th.”
“Stated exactly, you were two years and nine months older than he?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t look it.”
“I never did. We were always about the same size as boys, but he matured at an earlier age than I.”
“It is odd. How old were you when this group was taken?”
The photograph depicted a family gathering on the lawn at Beechcroft. There were eight persons in it, three being elderly men.
David reflected.
“That was before I left Harrow, and Christmas time. Seventeen almost, within a couple of weeks.”