The murder of her husband had doubtless been a shock, but he had been such a husband.

Elizabeth Twitcher had expected her mistress to cry a little about his death, and then grow serene as she realized what a good riddance it was.

But Olivia had not cried, and she showed no likelihood whatever of becoming serene.
At the end of her short breakfast she lit a cigarette, and began to pace up and down her sitting-room with a jerky, nervous gait, quite unlike her wonted graceful, easy, swinging walk.

She had to relight her cigarette, and as she did so, Elizabeth Twitcher, who was clearing away the breakfast, perceived that her hands were shaking.

There was plainly more in the matter than Elizabeth Twitcher had supposed, and she wondered, growing more and more uneasy.
When she went downstairs with the tray she learned that Dr.Thornhill was examining the wound which had caused the Lord Loudwater's death, and that Mr.Flexen and Inspector Perkins were questioning Wilkins.