Mrs. Holymead was conducted upstairs and announced by the butler.  Inspector Chippenfield greeted her with a low bow of conscious inferiority, and anticipated Hill in placing a chair for her.  His large red face went a deeper scarlet in colour as he looked at her.

“Flack tells me that you are a friend of the family, Mrs. Holymead.  What is it that I can do for you?  I need scarcely say, Mrs. Holymead, that your distinguished husband is well known to us all.  I have had the pleasure of being cross-examined by him on several occasions.  Anything you wish to know I’ll be pleased to tell you, if it lies within my power.”

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Holymead.

She seemed to be slightly nervous in the presence of a member of the Scotland Yard police, in spite of his obvious humility in the company of a fashionable lady who belonged to a different social world from that in which police inspectors moved.  It took Inspector Chippenfield some minutes to discover that the object of Mrs. Holymead’s visit was to learn some of the details of the tragedy.  As one who had known the murdered man for several years, and the wife of his intimate friend, she was overwhelmed by the awful tragedy.  She endeavoured to explain that the crime was like a horrible dream which she could not get rid of.  But in spite of the repugnance with which she contemplated the fact that a gentleman she had known so well had been shot down in his own house she felt a natural curiosity to know how the dreadful crime had been committed.

Inspector Chippenfield availed himself of the opportunity to do the honours of the occasion.  He went over the details of the tragedy and pointed out where the body had been found.  He showed her the bullet mark on the wall and the flattened bullet which had been extracted.  Although from the mere habit of official caution he gave away no information which was not of a superficial and obvious kind, it was apparent he liked talking about the crime and his responsibilities as the officer who had been placed in charge of the investigations.  He noted the interest with which Mrs. Holymead followed his words and he was satisfied that he had created a favourable impression on her.  It was his desire to do the honours thoroughly which led him to remark after he had given her the main facts of the tragedy: 

“I’m sorry I cannot take you to view the body.  It is downstairs, but the fact is the Home Office doctors are in there making the post-mortem to extract the bullet.”

Mrs. Holymead shuddered at this information.  The fact that such gruesome work as a post-mortem examination was proceeding on the body of a man whom she had known so well brought on a fit of nausea.  Her head fell back as if she was about to faint.

“Can I have a glass of water?” she whispered.