The Sergeant nodded.
“Gunnet’s gone down to fetch a van from the village and we’ll get her over to Whitbury to-night. I’m going on from here to see Miss Allen. It’s not a job I’m hankering after, to tell you the truth.”
“Want me to come along?” asked Gregg. “I might be needed, but I doubt it. She’s a strong-minded woman, Miss Allen, and I shouldn’t say hysterics were much in her line.”
“I’d be grateful if you would, all the same. It’s not a pleasant thing to have to tell a lady.”
Gregg nodded.
“Righto,” he said. “It’s all in the day’s work.”
They went back to the kitchen and sat by the fire, talking desultorily while they waited for Gunnet and the van. Leslie produced drinks and did his best to join naturally in the conversation, but he was ill at ease. He found himself wondering what was passing in Gregg’s mind. Was he, too, curious as to what part Leslie had played in this tragic drama? Leslie tried to visualize the whole thing from the point of view of a casual observer, and failed. Already he was too deeply entangled in this gruesome business to see it in its right proportions.
He was thankful when Gunnet arrived with the van and a stretcher to bear away the corpse. Brace and the doctor left five minutes later in Gregg’s little two-seater. It seemed to Leslie that there was an unusual warmth in Gregg’s voice as he bid him good night. He had never liked the doctor, but he felt grateful to him now, for his hearty handshake came hot on the heels of Brace’s last words as he climbed into the car.
“I must ask you to hold yourself at the disposal of the police until further notice, Mr. Leslie.”