夜雨聆风Hallo, yes? The station?”
The obedient Miss Murgatroyd, her eyes closed, was reliving the night ofthe 29th. The torch, sweeping slowly round … a group of people … the win-dows … the sofa … Dora Bunner … the wall … the table with lamp … thearchway … the sudden spat of the revolver….
“… but that’s extraordinary!” said Miss Murgatroyd.
“What?” Miss Hinchcliffe was barking angrily into the telephone. “Beenthere since this morning? What time? Damn and blast you, and you onlyring me up now? I’ll set the S.P.C.A. after you. An oversight? Is that allyou’ve got to say?”
She banged down the receiver.
“It’s that dog,” she said. “The red setter. Been at the station since thismorning—since this morning at eight o’clock. Without a drop of water!
And the idiots only ring me up now. I’m going to get her right away.”
She plunged out of the room, Miss Murgatroyd squeaking shrilly in herwake.
“But listen, Hinch, a most extraordinary thing … I don’t understand it….”
Miss Hinchcliffe had dashed out of the door and across to the shedwhich served as a garage.
“We’ll go on with it when I come back,” she called. “I can’t wait for youto come with me. You’ve got your bedroom slippers on as usual.”
She pressed the starter of the car and backed out of the garage with ajerk. Miss Murgatroyd skipped nimbly sideways.
“But listen, Hinch, I must tell you—”
