Mitchell looked at him steadfastly. “Then you claim that your departure on Tuesday morning was not on the spur of the moment?”
“I do.”
Mitchell shot an inquiring glance at Thorne, who promptly joined in the conversation.
“I understand you were expecting a cable from England,” he began. And Noyes turned instantly and gave him his full attention. “Did you receive that cable?”
“Yes.”
“At what hour?”
“Let me see.” Noyes thought a minute. “I imagine it was about twenty minutes of three Tuesday morning when I was called on the long-distance telephone and the cable message repeated to me.”
“Twenty minutes of three”—Thorne did some rapid calculating, and when he spoke again his manner was grave. “It was at that hour or thereabouts that Deputy Coroner McPherson contends Brainard was murdered. Did you hear no sound from his room?”
“No,” shortly. “I spent most of the night in this library, and this old house, with its thick brick walls, is sound-proof.”
“Quite true,” acknowledged Thorne, and his manner showed disappointment. “Too bad, doctor; I had hoped that you might give us some light on Brainard’s death, as you were up and awake practically all night on Monday.”