“I should be obliged if you wouldn’t leave the house just at present,” he called after him.
Leslie suddenly lost his temper.
“My good fellow, I’m not going to run away!” he exploded.
Once in the little kitchen he sank into a chair by the stove and ran his fingers through his hair. He was abominably tired, too tired to think properly, but it was beginning to strike him that he was in a tighter place than he had realized. He had been a fool to lose his temper like that. After all, the chap couldn’t be blamed for feeling a bit suspicious.
With a long sigh, he dropped his head into his hands and tried to view the situation calmly. But the thoughts went chasing round in a futile circle in his tired brain, and at last, in despair, he gave it up and straightened himself. If only the police would hurry up and get through with the job!
He reached for the coffee-pot and poured himself out a big cup of black coffee.
“Damn!” he said with heartfelt emphasis. “Oh, damn!”
Meanwhile the Sergeant was pursuing his investigations. With the help of Gunnet and the man he had brought with him he raised the body from the table and laid it on the floor. As the head fell back against his shoulder Gunnet gave vent to an exclamation.
“It’s her from Miss Allen’s! Her sister, I think she is. I see her in the village this morning!”
“Miss Allen of Greycross?”