Victor, he added, was awfully calm. He was sitting in the informal drawing room with small drops of blood dripping down his neck, staining his dress shirt. When asked whether he’d placed hands on me, he’d only laughed.
The detective pulled out pen and paper, scribbled something down, and then said, “Can you tell me what happened, Miss Herring?”
I stared blankly at him before repeating, “What happened?”
“Yes, miss,” he said, raising an eyebrow so high that it seemed it would touch his hairline. “I mean to establish the intent. It is clear that you are both injured, but he seems the less sane.”
“He tried to strangle me, detective,” I said flatly. “He intended to kill me.”
“I can see that, miss. Your butler, Williams, has contacted medical professionals to deal with him. But in the meant
