"
Mrs. Hill followed him timidly into the room he had entered. It was a
small, shabbily-furnished apartment, and the inspector's massive
proportions made it look smaller still. He took up a commanding position
on the strip of drugget which did duty as a hearth-rug, and staring
fiercely at her, suddenly commenced:
"Mrs. Hill, where was your husband on the night of the 18th of August,
when his employer, Sir Horace Fewbanks, was murdered?"
Mrs. Hill shrank before that fierce gaze, and said, in a low tone:
"Please, sir, he was at home."
"At home, was he? I'm not so sure of that. Tell me all about your
husband's movements on that day and night. What time did he come home, to
begin with?"
"He came home early in the afternoon to take our little girl to the
Zoo--which was a treat she had been looking forward to for a long while.
I couldn't go myself, there being the shop to look after. So Mr. Hill and
Daphne went to the Zoo, and after they came home and had tea I took her
to the pictures while Mr. Hill minded the shop. It was not the
picture-palace next door, but the big one in High Street, where they were
showing 'East Lynne,' Then when we come home about ten o'clock we all
had supper and went to bed.
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