help laughing. 'No, Best of my Aunts, it wouldn't! I don't know how long it took Mavis to assimilate the fact that Warrenby was dead, and to be sick, and to rush off in search of you, but it was quite long enough to give the unknown assassin ample time to make his getaway.'
She went on polishing her monocle, her attention apparently rivetted to this task. Finally, screwing it into place again, she looked at Charles, and said abruptly: 'I don't like it. I'm not going to say who I think might have done it -- or, at any rate, wanted to do it! -- but I shouldn't be surprised if it leads to a great deal of the sort of unpleasantness we don't want!'
'I do love you, Aunt Miriam!' said Charles, putting an arm round her, and giving her the hug of the privileged. 'A turn in yourself, that's what you are! Don't worry! Abby and I are your alibis -- same like you're ours!'
'Don't be silly!' she said, pushing him away. 'You know what I mean!' She cast another glance at the corpse, and said with some asperity: 'I shall be glad when someone comes to relieve us! If there were anything one could do! But there isn't. In fact, I imagine that the less we do the better it will be. Standing about to keep watch over a dead man! It's all very well for you to laugh, but I wasn't brought up to this sort of thing.'
However, when Charles suggested that she might as well return to her home, she gave a scornful snort, and resumed her scrutiny of the flower-beds. Fortunately, they had not long to wait before relief came in the substantial form of Police Constable Hobkirk, a stout and middle-aged man who inhabited a cottage in the High Street, and devoted as much of his time as could be spared from his not very arduous police-duties to the cultivation of tomatoes, vegetable-marrows and flowers which almost invariably won the first prizes at all the local shows.
He came up the lane on his bicycle, very hot, for he had been pedalling as vigorously as was suitable for a man of his girth, and a little out of breath. Alighting ponderously from his machine, he propped it against the hedge, and, before entering the garden, removed his cap, and mopped his face and neck with a large handkerchief.
'Good lord! I forgot all about Hobkirk!' exclaimed Charles, conscience-stricken. 'I expect I ought to have notified him, not Bellingham. He looks a bit disgruntled, doesn't he? Hallo, Hobkirk! I'm glad you've turned up. Bad business, this.'
''Evening, sir. 'Evening, miss,' said Hobkirk, a note of formality in his voice. 'Now, just how did this happen?'
'Good lord, I don't know!' replied Charles. 'Miss Patterdale doesn't either. We weren't here. Miss Warrenby found the body, just as you see it, and came to Fox Cottage for help.'
'Oh!' said Hobkirk noncommittally. He produced a small notebook from his pocket, and the stub of a pencil. 'At what time would that have been?' he asked.
Charles looked at Miss Patterdale. 'Do you know? I'm hanged if I do!'
'Come, come, sir!' said Hobkirk.
'It's no use saying come, come, in that reproving way. No doubt, if Miss Warrenby had rushed in to tell you her uncle had been shot, you'd have taken note of the time: you're a policeman. The trouble is I'm not, and I didn't.'
'Ah!' said Hobkirk, pleased with this tribute to his superior ability. 'That's where it comes in, doesn't it? It'll have to be established, you know, because it's very important circumstance.'
'Well, I daresay we can work it out,' said Miss Patterdale, pulling an old fashioned gold watch out of her waistband, and consulting it. 'It's ten past eight now -- and I know that's right, because I set my watch by the wireless only this morning -- and I should think we must have been here at least half an hour.'
'Twenty minutes at the outside,' interpolated Charles.
'It seems longer, but you may be right. When did Mavis reach us?'
'I haven't the ghost of an idea,' said Charles frankly. 'I should make a rotten witness, shouldn't I? What a good job it is
She went on polishing her monocle, her attention apparently rivetted to this task. Finally, screwing it into place again, she looked at Charles, and said abruptly: 'I don't like it. I'm not going to say who I think might have done it -- or, at any rate, wanted to do it! -- but I shouldn't be surprised if it leads to a great deal of the sort of unpleasantness we don't want!'
'I do love you, Aunt Miriam!' said Charles, putting an arm round her, and giving her the hug of the privileged. 'A turn in yourself, that's what you are! Don't worry! Abby and I are your alibis -- same like you're ours!'
'Don't be silly!' she said, pushing him away. 'You know what I mean!' She cast another glance at the corpse, and said with some asperity: 'I shall be glad when someone comes to relieve us! If there were anything one could do! But there isn't. In fact, I imagine that the less we do the better it will be. Standing about to keep watch over a dead man! It's all very well for you to laugh, but I wasn't brought up to this sort of thing.'
However, when Charles suggested that she might as well return to her home, she gave a scornful snort, and resumed her scrutiny of the flower-beds. Fortunately, they had not long to wait before relief came in the substantial form of Police Constable Hobkirk, a stout and middle-aged man who inhabited a cottage in the High Street, and devoted as much of his time as could be spared from his not very arduous police-duties to the cultivation of tomatoes, vegetable-marrows and flowers which almost invariably won the first prizes at all the local shows.
He came up the lane on his bicycle, very hot, for he had been pedalling as vigorously as was suitable for a man of his girth, and a little out of breath. Alighting ponderously from his machine, he propped it against the hedge, and, before entering the garden, removed his cap, and mopped his face and neck with a large handkerchief.
'Good lord! I forgot all about Hobkirk!' exclaimed Charles, conscience-stricken. 'I expect I ought to have notified him, not Bellingham. He looks a bit disgruntled, doesn't he? Hallo, Hobkirk! I'm glad you've turned up. Bad business, this.'
''Evening, sir. 'Evening, miss,' said Hobkirk, a note of formality in his voice. 'Now, just how did this happen?'
'Good lord, I don't know!' replied Charles. 'Miss Patterdale doesn't either. We weren't here. Miss Warrenby found the body, just as you see it, and came to Fox Cottage for help.'
'Oh!' said Hobkirk noncommittally. He produced a small notebook from his pocket, and the stub of a pencil. 'At what time would that have been?' he asked.
Charles looked at Miss Patterdale. 'Do you know? I'm hanged if I do!'
'Come, come, sir!' said Hobkirk.
'It's no use saying come, come, in that reproving way. No doubt, if Miss Warrenby had rushed in to tell you her uncle had been shot, you'd have taken note of the time: you're a policeman. The trouble is I'm not, and I didn't.'
'Ah!' said Hobkirk, pleased with this tribute to his superior ability. 'That's where it comes in, doesn't it? It'll have to be established, you know, because it's very important circumstance.'
'Well, I daresay we can work it out,' said Miss Patterdale, pulling an old fashioned gold watch out of her waistband, and consulting it. 'It's ten past eight now -- and I know that's right, because I set my watch by the wireless only this morning -- and I should think we must have been here at least half an hour.'
'Twenty minutes at the outside,' interpolated Charles.
'It seems longer, but you may be right. When did Mavis reach us?'
'I haven't the ghost of an idea,' said Charles frankly. 'I should make a rotten witness, shouldn't I? What a good job it is
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