“But, my dear man,” cried Colonel Melchett, “you said yourself that half an hour was only an approximate estimate.”
“Half an hour, thirty-five minutes, twenty-five minutes, twenty minutes—possibly, but less, no. Why, the body would have been warm when I got to it.”
We stared at each other. Haydock’s face had changed. It had gone suddenly grey and old. I wondered at the change in him.
“But, look here, Haydock.” The colonel found his voice. “If Redding admits shooting him at a quarter to seven—”
Haydock sprang to his feet.
“I tell you it’s impossible,” he roared. “If Redding says he killed Protheroe at a quarter to seven, then Redding lies. Hang it all, I tell you I’m a doctor, and I know. The blood had begun to congeal.”
“If Redding is lying,” began Melchett. He stopped, shook his head.
“We’d better go down to the police station and see him,” he said.