“And now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Trevert,” he muttered, “I should really be going. I am due at Mr. Bardy’s office at five o’clock. He is coming up from the country specially to meet me. There is so much to discuss with regard to this terrible affair.”
He glanced at his watch.
“With the roads as greasy as they are,” he added, “it will take me all my time in the car to ...”
He cast a panic-stricken glance around him. But Mary Trevert held him fast.
“You didn’t finish what you were saying about Mr. Parrish, Mr. Jeekes,” she said impassively. The secretary made no sign. But he looked a trifle sullen.
“I don’t think you realize, Mr. Jeekes,” she said, “that other people besides myself are keenly interested in the motives for Mr. Parrish’s suicide. The police profess to be willing to accept the testimony of the specialists as satisfactory medical evidence about his state of mind. But I distrust that man, Manderton. He is not satisfied, Mr. Jeekes. He won’t rest until he knows the truth.”
The secretary cast her a frightened glance.
“But Mr. Manderton told me himself, Miss Trevert,” he affirmed, “that the verdict would be, ‘Suicide while temporarily insane,’ on Sir Winterton Maire’s evidence alone ...”
Mary Trevert tapped the ground impatiently with her foot.
“Manderton will get at the truth, I tell you,” she said. “He’s that kind of man. Do you want me to find out from them? At the inquest, perhaps?”