But Mary Trevert set him quickly at his ease when presently she came to him. She was pale, but quite self-possessed. Indeed, the effort she had made to regain her self-control was so marked that it would have scarcely escaped the attention of the Inspector, even if he had not had a brief vision of her as she had stood for that instant at the library door, pale, distraught, and trembling. He was astonished to find her cool, collected, almost business-like in the way she sat down, motioned him to his seat, and expressed her readiness to tell him all she knew.
The phrases he had been laboriously preparing—“This has been a bad shock for you, ma’am”; “You will forgive me, I’m sure, ma’am, for calling upon you at a moment such as this”—died away on his lips as Mary Trevert said:
“Ask me any questions you wish, Inspector. I will tell you everything I can.”
“That’s very good of you, ma’am, I’m sure,” answered the Inspector, unstrapping his notebook, “and I’ll try and not detain you long. Now, then, tell me what you know of this sad affair ...”
Mary Trevert plucked an instant nervously at her little cambric handerchief in her lap. Then she said:
“I went to the library from the billiard-room ...”
“A moment,” interposed the Inspector. “What time was that?”
“A little after five. The tea gong had gone some time. I was going to the library to tell Mr. Parrish that tea was ready ...”
Mr. Humphries made a note. He nodded to show he was listening.
“I crossed the hall and went down the library corridor. I knocked on the library door. There was no reply. Then I heard a shot and a sort of thud.”