“You mean today?” snapped Bernard.
“No, sir, last Saturday. Mr. Brent was here over the week-end and they talked business in the library a good part of Saturday. Susan couldn’t get in there to dust.”
“What did they do on Sunday?” Bernard asked.
“Let me see, sir.” Helen paused thoughtfully. “I believe Mr. Brent was out shooting with some of the others in the afternoon and Mr. Harrison took Mrs. Graham for a ride.”
“You don’t say so!” grumbled Bernard.
CHAPTER XI
THE OLD MAN WHO CALLED
A few more questions indicated that Helen had no further useful knowledge to impart. Landis took her to the library and went to the kitchen, returning with James Harley, the chauffeur-gardener.
Harley was a rugged, red-haired man of middle age who looked as if he possessed a sense of humor. Landis invited him to be seated and asked him to tell them where he had been and what he had seen since his return from town.
“Well, sir,” he began in a rich voice, “I brought the boss home about a quarter past six and dropped him at the front door. I drove round and put the car away and went and turned on the sprinklers in the sunken garden, for it’s been a bit dry and Mr. Harrison was fussy about his chrysanthemums. Then I went back to the garage and wiped off the car. When I’d done that job and tightened the fanbelt a bit, I came back to the sunken garden, turned off the sprinklers again and came in the back door to the kitchen—”