“I don’t remember your requesting me to tell you what I considered important, sir,” the butler replied.
Bernard studied the man for a moment, his face expressionless.
“Then you do consider it important?”
Into Stimson’s impassive countenance came a look of reserved respect, as though deep called to deep.
“That would depend, sir,” he said, “on whether Miss Anita actually went to the billiard-room. I only saw her go in that direction. If she did go to the billiard-room, it would depend, also, on how long she stayed there, I should suppose, sir.”
“Excellent reasoning,” Bernard complimented him dryly. “But I want to know where she did go and where she was until seven-thirty.”
“That I don’t know, sir.”
Bernard nodded and looked at Landis, who again took up the thread of questioning.
“You saw no one else, Stimson, up to the time you took in the cocktails?” he asked.