Hale placed his elbow on the table and leaned his head on his hand.
“And what have you discovered, Inspector?” he asked.
“Nothing.” Ferguson, flattered by the title, spoke with courteous promptness. “I have been waiting to interview you, Mr. Hale, as to what transpired here on Tuesday night.”
“Tuesday?” Hale reflected a moment. “Let me see, I was taken ill with the ‘flu’ last Friday, and I have not been up and about until this morning. You will have to ask others in my household for information.”
“I have,” Ferguson made no effort to conceal his disappointment over his failure to elicit news. “And every one declares nothing out of the ordinary was either heard or seen.”
“Tuesday night,” repeated Robert Hale thoughtfully. “Tuesday night—why, John, you went in my stead with Agatha to the French Embassy reception; did Judith accompany you?”
“No, she stayed at home,” John Hale explained. “She said she had a headache.”
“And her husband?” inquired his brother.
“Major Richards? Oh, he had a business engagement at the club.” John Hale pulled forward a chair and sat down, the interview threatened to grow protracted. “It was Joe who found Austin on his return.”
“Joe found him!” Robert Hale glanced upward and Latimer started at the sudden flash in his dark eyes—eyes which until that moment had seemed dull, almost dead, in their lusterless expression. “Well, what then?”