“We didn’t do it, sir,” he said. “Honestly. None of us. We are not at all a homicidal family.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Alleyn tranquilly.
Henry stared at him and then shrugged his shoulders. “Not an impressive effort on my part, I see,” he said.
“Have you been honest with us?”
Henry didn’t answer. His face was quite colourless. “Well, good night,” he said and, on some obscure impulse, held out his hand.
II
Fox had not returned. Alleyn looked at his watch. Almost midnight. They’d done not so badly in four hours. He added another column to a tabulated record of everybody’s movements from the time of Lord Wutherwood’s first yell up to the return of the lift. P. C. Gibson, at the door, coughed.
“All right,” said Alleyn without looking up. “We’ll get going again in a moment. Been following the statements?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what do you think about it?” asked Alleyn, scowling at his notes.