Valentine Morley!—“and only saw for a moment or two? What was the name of this bird—a magician, I think, who used to walk full-speed in front of crowded shop windows and then was able to describe accurately every little thing in⸺”
“Yes, yes, I know,” interrupted the officer. “You’ve been about as helpful as Peters, here,” he waved to the old man.
“Sorry, I’m sure, officer,” replied Val, with a sincere show of regret, “Anything I can do, of course—why⸺”
“Thanks, Mr. Morley,” said Connolly. “Is there anything you want to say to Mr. Morley, coroner?” he asked, turning to another member of the group.
“Not at this moment, sergeant,” replied the coroner. “A little later, perhaps. Don’t go away yet, Mr. Morley.”
Val nodded. “All right. Any objection to my talking to Mr. Peters,” he nodded in the direction of the bookseller’s old clerk. “I am interested in the disposition of this store, naturally, and⸺”
“No objection at all,” interposed both the coroner and Connolly. “Go right ahead.” They dismissed him temporarily with a nod and continued their consultation in a little group, finally going into the back room presumably for another inspection of the body, which had been laid out there after the coroner had made his examination. Val sat down next to Sam Peters. The old clerk raised his white head, his eyes red with weeping.
“Oh, Mr. Morley!” he whispered. “What a horrible thing⸺”
“There, there, Sam,” soothed Val. “Don’t talk about it. I know how you feel.”
