Leslie broke in on him. His nerves had already been badly jarred by the events of the evening and the man’s manner was beginning to annoy him. “Good Heavens, man, you’re not going to tell me that anything I may say may be used against me? You’re welcome to what I can tell you, but it isn’t much. I never saw this lady before in my life till I came in at eight and found her in my room. How she got here I’ve no idea. You surely don’t think I’ve murdered her!” But the Sergeant refused to be drawn. “All the same, we should like to know where you were during the evening and whether you spoke to any one who could identify you during that time.” “Who was I likely to speak to? I tell you I went on a long, cross-country tramp. I don’t suppose I met a soul, certainly not any one who could identify me.” “Four hours is a long time. You were walking all the time?” “Yes.” Leslie spoke curtly. He was tired and the whole thing was beginning to get on his nerves. “Then, if that’s all you can tell me, Mr. Leslie, I’ll take a look round here. If you’ll step into another room . . .” Leslie opened his mouth as though about to say something, and then, apparently, thought better of it. “You’ll find me in the kitchen if you want me,” he volunteered as he went out. “There’s some coffee on the stove for any one who would like it.” The Sergeant looked after him thoughtfully, then strolled to the door. “I should be obliged if you wouldn’t leave the house just at present,” he called after him. Leslie suddenly lost his temper. “My good fellow, I’m not going to run away!” he exploded. Once in the little kitchen he sank into a chair by the stove and ran his fingers through his hair. He was abominably tired, too tired to think properly, but it was beginning to strike him that he was in a tighter place than he had realized. He had been a fool to lose his temper like that. After all, the chap couldn’t be blamed for feeling a bit suspicious. With a long sigh, he dropped his head into his hands and tried to view the situation calmly. But the thoughts went chasing round in a futile circle in his tired brain, and at last, in despair, he gave it up and straightened himself. If only the police would hurry up and get through with the job! He reached for the coffee-pot and poured himself out a big cup of black coffee. “Damn!” he said with heartfelt emphasis. “Oh, damn!” Meanwhile the Sergeant was pursuing his investigations. With the help of Gunnet and the man he had brought with him he raised the body from the table and laid it on the floor. As the head fell back against his shoulder Gunnet gave vent to an exclamation. “It’s her from Miss Allen’s! Her sister, I think she is. I see her in the village this morning!” “Miss Allen of Greycross?”