“Well, what about that? The footsteps going upstairs?”
“That was Ellen, going up to draw the curtains. You remember, Mrs. Honeycott said her sister paused before going up. That pause was just the time needed for Ellen to come out from the kitchen into the hall. She just missed seeing the murderer.”
“But Tommy,” cried Tuppence. “The cry she gave?”
“That was James Reilly. Didn’t you notice what a high pitched voice he has? In moments of great emotion, men often squeal just like a woman.”
“But the murderer? We’d have seen him?”
“We did see him. We even stood talking to him. Do you remember the sudden way that policeman appeared? That was because he stepped out of the gate, just after the mist cleared from the road. It made us jump, don’t you remember? After all, though we never think of them as that, policemen are men just like any other men. They love and they hate. They marry. …
“I think Gilda Glen met her husband suddenly just outside that gate, and took him in with her to thrash the matter out. He hadn’t Reilly’s relief of violent words, remember. He just saw red—and he had his truncheon handy. …”