"My daughter," Chris told him.

"Very nice."

"Look, I hate to be---"

"Yes, yes, I know, I'm a nuisance. Well, look, just a question or two and we're done. In fact, only one question and then I'll be going." He was glancing at his wristwatch as if he were anxious to get away to some appointment. "Since poor Mr. Dennings," he labored breathily;

"had completed his filming in this area, we wondered if he might have been visiting someone on the night of the accident. Now other than yourself, Of course, did he have any friends in this area?"

"Oh, he was here that night," Chris told him.

"Oh?" His eyebrows sickled upward. "Near the time of the accident?" "When did it happen?" she asked him.

"Seven-o-five," he told her.

"Yes, I think so."

"Well, that settles it, then." He nodded, turning in his chair as if preparatory to rising. "He was drunk, he was leaving, he fell down the steps. Yes, that settles it. Definitely. Listen, though, just for the sake of the record, can you tell me approximately what time he left the house?"

He was pawing at truth like a weary bachelor pinching vegetables at market. How did he ever make lieutenant? Chris wondered. "I don't know," she replied. "I didn't see him."

"I don't understand."

"Well, he came and left while I was out I was over at a doctor's office in Rosslyn."

"Ah, I see." He nodded. "Of course, But the how do you know he was here?"

'Oh, well, Sharon said---"

"Sharon?"' he interrupted.

"Sharon Spencer. She's my secretary. She was here when Burke dropped by. She---" "He came to see her?" he asked.

"No, me."

'Yes, of course. Yes, forgive me for interrupting."

"My daughter was sick and Sharon left him here while she went to pick up some prescriptions.

By the time I got home, though, Burke was gone."

"And what time was that, please?"

"Seven-fifteen or so, seven-thirty."

"And what time had you left?"

"Maybe six-fifteenish."

"What time had Miss Spencer left?"

"I don't know."

"And between the time Miss Spencer left and the time you returned, who was here in the house with Mr. Dennings besides your danghter?"

"No one."

"No one? He left her alone?" She

nodded.

"No servants?"

"No, Willie and Karl were---"

'Who are they?"

Chris abruptly felt the earth shift under her feet. The nuzzling interview, she realized, was suddenly steely interrogation. "Well, Karl's right there." She motioned with her head, her glance fixed dully on the servant's back. Still polishing the oven... "And Willie's his wife," she resumed. "They're my housekeepers." Polishing... "They'd taken the afternoon off and when I got home, they weren't back yet. Willie..." Chris paused.

"Willie what?"

"Oh, well, nothing." She, shrugged as she tugged her gaze away from the manservant's brawny back. The oven was clean, she had noticed. Why was Karl still polishing?

She reached for a cigarette. Kinderman lit it.

"So then only your daughter would know when Dennings left the house."

"It was really an accident?"

"Oh, of course. It's routine, Miss MacNeil, its routine. Mr. Dennings wasn't robbed and he had no enemies, none that we know of, that is, in the District."

Chris darted a momentary glance to Karl but then shifted it quickly bade to Kinderman. Had he noticed? Apparently not. He was fingering the sculpture.

"It's got a name, this kind of bird; I can't think of it. something." He noticed Chris staring and looked vaguely embarrassed. "Forgive me, you're busy. Well, a minute and we're done. Now your daughter, she would know when Mr. Dennings left?"

"No, she wouldn't. She was heavily sedated."

"Ah, dear me, a shame, a shame." His droopy eyelids seeped concern. "It's serious?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it is."

"May I ask...?" he probed with a delicate gesture.

'We still don't know."

"Watch out for drafts," he cautioned firmly.

Chris looked blank.