“Hardly, sir,” said the butler, unruffled. “As a rule I believe he wipes off the big car as soon as he gets home in the evening, in case it might be wanted after dinner. He acts as gardener too, since Mr. Harrison has been going in to town so seldom. He may have set the sprinklers or something of the sort, before he came in.”
Bernard nodded.
“See anyone else at all?”
“I think not, sir.” The butler paused reflectively, then shook his head. “No one except Miss Anita.”
“You mean you saw Anita Harrison between six-thirty and seven-thirty, Stimson?” Landis asked.
“Why yes, sir, a few minutes after Harley came in—”
“Exactly what time did you see her?” snapped Bernard.
“I did not happen to look at a clock,” retorted the butler evenly. “It was about seven-five or seven-ten, I should judge. She came down the back stairs and went through toward the billiard-room. Sometimes she knocks the balls about in there until the gong sounds, if she is down early.”
Bernard sat up.
“Except Miss Anita!” he thundered. “So it doesn’t strike you as important that she should be in the billiard-room, so close to the library, when her father was shot from that end of the library, eh?”