“Eh!”
I happened to glance just then at Miss Kitty Clevedon and noticed that her face had gone an almost chalky whiteness that extended even to her lips and that she was gripping the arm of her chair with a strong, nervous tension.
“For instance,” I went on slowly, keeping my voice low and tranquil as if it were really a matter of small importance, “who is Sir Philip’s heir?”
But I still kept my eyes on Kitty Clevedon and noted that her grip on the chair tightened.
“Well, he didn’t do it, anyway,” Lady Clevedon retorted.
“No, I don’t suppose he did,” I returned, carefully refraining from raising my voice. “I merely said that he would be my starting point. Then, doubtless, he would prove an alibi and I should eliminate him.”
“Billy might have hit him over the head with a stick,” Lady Clevedon went on, “but he wouldn’t poison a man nor would he dig a hatpin into him.”
“Oh, you never know,” I replied cheerfully. “Who is Billy?”
“Sir William Clevedon—the new baronet—Kitty’s brother,” the old lady explained. “But he never poisoned Philip. They weren’t friends, certainly, but then, Philip had no friends. And they had quarrelled; though for that matter Philip had quarrelled with Ronald Thoyne, as you heard at the inquest. Philip was that way. He quarrelled with most people. But Billy didn’t do it. He is with his regiment in Ireland, trying to keep the Sinn Feiners quiet.”
“Then there is his alibi which rules him out,” I said.