“Now, let’s hear your story.”
Sproot cleared his throat and stared out of the window.
“There’s very little to tell, sir. I was in the butler’s pantry, polishing the glassware, when I heard the shot——”
“Go back a little further,” interrupted Markham. “I understand you made a trip to Third Avenue at nine this morning.”
“Yes, sir. Miss Sibella bought a Pomeranian yesterday, and she asked me to get some dog-biscuits after breakfast.”
“Who called at the house this morning?”
“No one, sir—that is, no one but Doctor Von Blon.”
“All right. Now tell us everything that happened.”
“Nothing happened, sir—nothing unusual, that is—until poor Mr. Rex was shot. Miss Ada went out a few minutes after Doctor Von Blon arrived; and a little past eleven o’clock you telephoned to Mr. Rex. Then shortly afterward you telephoned a second time to Mr. Rex; and I returned to the pantry. I had only been there a few minutes when I heard the shot——”
“What time would you say that was?”