"
"The police? Y-yes." He looked doubtfully at the other. "I
suppose--"
Antony spoke frankly.
"Now, look here, Mr.--er--"
"Cayley. I'm Mark Ablett's cousin. I live with him."
"My name's Gillingham. I'm sorry, I ought to have told you
before. Well now, Mr. Cayley, we shan't do any good by
pretending. Here's a man been shot--well, somebody shot him."
"He might have shot himself," mumbled Cayley.
"Yes, he might have, but he didn't. Or if he did, somebody was
in the room at the time, and that somebody isn't here now. And
that somebody took a revolver away with him. Well, the police
will want to say a word about that, won't they?"
Cayley was silent, looking on the ground.
"Oh, I know what you're thinking, and believe me I do sympathize
with you, but we can't be children about it. If your cousin Mark
Ablett was in the room with this"--he indicated the body--"this
man, then--"
"Who said he was?" said Cayley, jerking his head up suddenly at
Antony.
"You did."
"I was in the library. Mark went in--he may have come out again
--I know nothing.
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