“I knew him at once.”
“He wrote to me asking for a position, and I got him this. Looks sick, poor devil. I intend to have a go at his chest.”
“How long has he been here?”
“More than a week, I think.”
As I drank my tea, I pondered. After all, the Neighborhood Club must guard against the possibility of fraud, and I felt that Sperry had been indiscreet, to say the least. From the time of Hawkins’ service in Miss Jeremy’s home there would always be the suspicion of collusion between them. I did not believe it was so, but Herbert, for instance, would be inclined to suspect her. Suppose that Hawkins knew about the crime? Or knew something and surmised the rest?
When we rose to go Sperry drew me aside.
“You think I’ve made a mistake?”
“I do.”
He flung away with an impatient gesture, then came back to me.
“Now look here,” he said, “I know what you mean, and the whole idea is absurd. Of course I never thought about it, but even allowing for connivance—which I don’t for a moment—the fellow was not in the house at the time of the murder.”