tea—she wouldn't speak to anybody. And she looked—my, I never saw her look so angry!"
"Where was Philip Mortover while all this was going on?" asked the detective.
"Out! He'd gone out with his gun, in the morning, before Mr. Levigne came, and he didn't come in to dinner—he never came in till tea-time. I believe he'd been drinking."
Mr. Patello made an inarticulate sound; Mrs. Patello an incredulous one.
"Oh, Mattie, you don't mean to say he's that sort?" she exclaimed. "Your Aunt Janet never mentioned———"
"He does drink!" asserted Mattie. "He goes off, I don't know where, and drinks. He and Aunt Janet have rows about it. But he does! And I wouldn't marry him if he'd a million times as much money as you and Aunt Janet say he has—all I want is to get out of this and never see place or people again—it's a perfect nightmare!"
"Well—what about when he came in?" asked Wedgwood. "What happened?"
"Nothing!" replied Mattie. "He seemed grumpy—surly, you know. But he's always like that—I hate him!"
"Was there any talk between him and Levigne and Mrs. Clagne?" asked Wedgwood.
