“I understand from the butler, gentlemen,” he said, “that it was Miss Trevert, a lady staying in the house, who heard the shot fired. I should like to see her, please. And you, sir, are you a relation of ...”
Greve, thus addressed, hastily replied.
“Only a friend, Inspector. I am staying in the house. I am a barrister. Perhaps I may be able to assist you ...”
Humphries shot a slow, shrewd glance at him from beneath his shaggy blond eyebrows.
“Thank you, sir, much obliged, I’m sure. Now”—he thrust a hand into his tunic and produced a large leather-bound notebook—“do you know anything as would throw a light on this business?”
Greve shook his head.
“He seemed perfectly cheerful at lunch. He left the dining-room directly after he had taken his coffee.”
“Where did he go?”
“He came here to work. He told us at lunch that he was going to shut himself up in the library for the whole afternoon as he had a lot of work to get through.”
The Inspector made a note or two in his book. Then he paused thoughtfully tapping the end of his pencil against his teeth.