to the dead man to say Harris hadn't turned up, and you were returning–I particularly appreciated both those.'
A constrained smile lighted Marlowe's face for a moment. 'I don't know that there's anything more to tell. I returned to Marlstone, and faced your friend the detective with such nerve as I had left. The worst was when I heard you had been put on the case–no, that wasn't the worst. The worst was when I saw you walk out of the shrubbery the next day, coming away from the shed where I had laid the body. For one ghastly moment I thought you were going to give me in charge on the spot. Now I've told you everything, you don't look so terrible.'
He closed his eyes, and there was a short silence. Then Trent got suddenly to his feet.
'Cross-examination?' enquired Marlowe, looking at him gravely.
'Not at all,' said Trent, stretching his long limbs. 'Only stiffness of the legs. I don't want to ask any questions. I believe what you have told us. I don't believe it simply because I always liked your face, or because it saves awkwardness, which are the most usual reasons
