Alleyn clasped his hands together on the table and seemed to contemplate them. Then he raised his head and looked at Henry. “Can you remember seeing anything on the table?”
“I remember very well that there was nothing on it but a vase of flowers.”
“Nothing? You are positive?”
“Quite. I remember the look of the table very clearly. It reflected the light from the window. Some one must have given the vase a knock because there was some water lying on the table. It’s rather a favourite of my father’s and I remember thinking that the water ought to be mopped up. I gave it a wipe with my handkerchief, but it wasn’t very successful. I didn’t do anything more about it. I was afraid that Aunt V. might come out of cover and I’d had a bellyful of Aunt V. I went into the drawing-room. But there was nothing on the table.”
“Would you swear to that? I mean, take a legal oath?”
“Yes,” said Henry, “I would.”
“What did you talk about when you went into the drawing-room?”
For the first time during the interview Henry seemed to be disconcerted. His eyes went blank. He repeated: “Talk about?” on a note that held an overtone of helplessness.
“Yes. What did you say to your father and your brothers or they to you?”
“I don’t remember. I — oh, yes, I asked if the Gabriels had gone.”