“Good God! Whose murder?”
The lean one fixed his piercing eyes on Hugh’s face.
“Professor Durand was murdered in his room last night, between ten and twelve.”
All three watched him closely. He was dazed by the shock. He stared at them blankly.
“Horrible!” he murmured. “The poor old man ... murdered!...”
“Yes, stabbed to the heart.”
“But who did it? Why have you arrested me?”
“Because the concierge says he saw you go up to the old man’s room a little after ten, and leave a little after eleven.”
“Me!”
“Yes. If you can prove that you were elsewhere, then the man must have been mistaken. We’ll see the English lady at once.”