“How is it,” I asked, “that you told us that Mr. Ackroyd sent for you on Friday to his study? I hear now that it was you who asked to speak to him .”
For a minute the girl’s eyes dropped before mine. Then she spoke.
“I meant to leave in any case,” she said uncertainly.
I said no more. She opened the front door for me. Just as I was passing out, she said suddenly in a low voice:
“Excuse me, sir, is there any news of Captain Paton?”
I shook my head, looking at her inquiringly.
“He ought to come back,” she said. “Indeed—indeed he ought to come back.”
She was looking at me with appealing eyes.
“Does no one know where he is?” she asked.
“Do you?” I said sharply.
She shook her head.
“No, indeed. I know nothing. But anyone who was a friend to him would tell him this: he ought to come back.”
I lingered, thinking that perhaps the girl would say more. Her next question surprised me.
“When do they think the murder was done? Just before ten o’clock?”
“That is the idea,” I said. “Between a quarter to ten and the hour.”
“Not earlier? Not before a quarter to ten?”