Sergeant Andrews felt the conversation had gone far enough.
“I am very sorry, Miss Sefton, that you were here at all. Mr. Fletcher told me that you were not at home, and that we merely came for Mr. Halley. I had just driven to fetch him, so we had better get off.”
Ena came to the door, her face was white, but she had a look of pride and confidence.
“Come back to us soon,” she said, “you will receive a warm welcome,” and she glanced a look of hatred and contempt at Fletcher.
“Do not worry about me, it will only be a matter of a few hours,” Halley said as the car drove off.
The examination was short, but Halley for the first time felt the indignity of his position, for the surroundings in which he found himself were enough to disgust any man of decent breeding.
The police at the station pushed him along as though he had been caught in the act of stealing a purse or cutting a throat. He realised how utterly futile is the old adage that a man under British Law is considered innocent until he is proved guilty.
The short sharp questions of the Inspector grated on him, and behind it all was the vision of one young girl torn with anxiety and waiting to know the issue of this day’s business.
His pride would have made him keep silent, but the image ever before him forced him to speak.
“If I studied my own interests,” he said “I would let you go on with this absurd charge, and burn your fingers over the matter. If you are wise you will let me clear myself immediately. The murder of which you accuse me took place on the 20th of January and on that night I have at least three witnesses who can testify that I was with them during the entire evening, and therefore could not have been at Reckavile Castle.”