Bobby drew back. The shock robbed him for a moment of the power to reason.
"Dead! The old man! How—"
The stranger's smile faded.
"Here it is nearly three o'clock in the afternoon, and you're all dressed up for last night. That's lucky."
Bobby couldn't meet the narrow eyes.
"Who are you?"
The stranger with his free hand threw back his coat lapel.
"My name's Howells. I'm a county detective. I'm on the case, because your grandfather died very strangely. He was murdered, very cleverly murdered. Queerest case I've ever handled. What do you think?"
In his own ears Bobby's voice sounded as remote and unreal as it had through the blackness last night.
"Why do you talk to me like this?"