"
Flack's surprise was so great that it lifted the lid of official humility
which habitually covered his natural feelings.
"Murdered!" he exclaimed. "Sir Horace Fewbanks murdered? You
don't say so!"
"But I do say so. I've just said so," retorted Inspector Seldon
irritably. He was angry at the fact that the information, whether true or
false, had gone direct to Scotland Yard instead of reaching him first.
"When was he murdered, sir?" asked Flack.
"Last night--when you were on that beat."
Flack paled at this remark.
"Last night, sir?" he cried.
"Don't repeat my words like a parrot," ejaculated the inspector
peevishly. "Didn't you notice anything suspicious when you were
along there?"
"No, sir. Was he murdered in his own house?"
"His dead body is supposed to be lying there now in the library," said
Inspector Seldon. "How Scotland Yard got wind of it is more than I know.
We ought to have heard of it before them. How many times did you go along
there last night?"
"Twice, sir. About eleven o'clock, and then about three."
"And there was nothing suspicious--you saw no one?"
"I saw Mr. Roberts and his lady coming home from the theatre.
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