Horace puckered up his brow.
“Well,” he said, “I don’t quite know. We were having tea. It wasn’t much after five—I should say about a quarter past.”
“Then the shot that Miss Trevert heard would have been fired just about the time that you, sir,” he turned to Robin, “were coming in from your stroll.”
“Somewhere about that time, I should say!” Robin answered rather thoughtfully.
“Did you hear it?” queried the Inspector.
“No,” said Robin.
“But surely you must have been at or near the side door at the time as you were coming in ...”
“I came in by the front door,” said Robin, “on the other side of the house ...”
Very carefully the Inspector closed his notebook, thrust the pencil back in its place along the back, fastened the elastic about the book, and turned to Horace Trevert.
“And now, sir, if I might speak to Miss Trevert alone for a minute ...”