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?”

I looked at her attentively. She was so clearly eager for a reply in the affirmative.