Gunnet led the way into the sitting-room. Leslie had placed the lamp on the mantelpiece before making his hasty expedition to the police station and it still burned there, lighting up the writing-table with its tragic burden. The Sergeant bent down and felt the cold cheek of the woman who lay across it. Then he lifted her eyelid and looked under the soft, bobbed hair that fell round her face. “Dead, all right,” he said. “She’s just as you found her?” Leslie stepped forward into the ring of light. “I didn’t touch her, except to feel her face, just as you did. I knew then that she was dead.” He could hear the scratching of the Constable’s pencil as he made his notes. “You’re sure she was dead then?” “I don’t think there was the faintest doubt. If I’d had the smallest suspicion she was alive I should have tried to do something for her, but I was so sure she was dead that I went straight for Gunnet. The blood on the blotter was almost dry then.” “What time was this, Mr. Leslie?” “Just about eight. The clock in the kitchen struck while I was in here.” The Sergeant, a tall, lean man with a shrewd, typical North-country face, scratched his chin thoughtfully. “You live here alone, I think?” he asked. Leslie nodded. “Mrs. Grey, the carter’s wife, does for me. She comes in the morning and leaves about two.” “So that when you are out the house is deserted?” “Absolutely, unless Grey is about in the yard. He was up at the station fetching some stuff this evening and didn’t get back till about nine. Gunnet was here then.” “Could any one get in easily?” “Quite. There is nothing here to steal. It’s only occasionally, when there’s money in the house, that I lock the front door.” The Sergeant was about to speak again when Leslie interrupted him. “I’ve just remembered. I forgot it till just now. The door was wide open when I came in. I’ve never found it like that before.” “It was unlocked when you went out?” “Yes, but it was latched. I always shut it. It’s a good latch, too.” “Were you about the premises at all this afternoon, Mr. Leslie?” So far, except for the Constable and his busy pencil in the background, the interrogation had been more or less friendly and informal. Now there was an official ring in the Sergeant’s voice that made Leslie look carefully to his answer. “I went out about four this afternoon and did not get back till just before eight.” “You weren’t near enough at any time during the evening to have heard a shot? This is a shooting case, you know.” Leslie shook his head. “I went for a long tramp across country. Unless it was done just after four or just before eight I couldn’t have heard anything.” “An unusual time at which to take a walk, Mr. Leslie.” The Sergeant’s voice was noncommittal, but Leslie felt himself flush. “I was too busy to go before and I needed exercise,” he said shortly. “You can account for your time, I suppose? I must ask you to think carefully . . .”