夜雨聆风No, no, of course not. But it seems so rum somehow. And miles fromhere and everything—in some country house, wasn’t it? Awfully countyand all that. Created a bit of a stir in the neighbourhood—what?”
Colonel Melchett took charge.
“How well did you know the dead girl, Mr. Bartlett?”
George Bartlett looked alarmed.
“Oh, n-n-n-ot well at all, s-s-sir. No, hardly at all—if you know what Imean. Danced with her once or twice—passed the time of day—bit of ten-nis—you know.”
“You were, I think, the last person to see her alive last night?”
“I suppose I was—doesn’t it sound awful? I mean, she was perfectly allright when I saw her—absolutely.”
“What time was that, Mr. Bartlett?”
“Well, you know, I never know about time — wasn’t very late, if youknow what I mean.”
“You danced with her?”
“Yes — as a matter of fact — well, yes, I did. Early on in the evening,though. Tell you what, it was just after her exhibition dance with the profellow. Must have been ten, half-past, eleven, I don’t know.”
“Never mind the time. We can fix that. Please tell us exactly whathappened.”
“Well, we danced, don’t you know. Not that I’m much of a dancer.”
“How you dance is not really relevant, Mr. Bartlett.”
