I was doing some work, and, having occasion to
consult a book, lighted a candle, and put it in the small window near the
bookcase. Then I fancied I saw a woman's face, _her_ face, peering in,
and was so obsessed by the notion that I went outside, but everything was
so still that I persuaded myself I was mistaken."
"Oh, is that what it was?"
Grant threw out his hands in a gesture that was eloquent of some feeling
distinctly akin to despair.
"You don't usually speak in enigmas, Doris," he said. "What in the world
do you mean by saying:--'Oh, is that what it was?'"
The girl--she was only nineteen, and never before had aught of tragic
mystery entered her sheltered life--seemed to recover her
self-possession with a quickness and decision that were admirable.
"There is no enigma," she said calmly. "My room overlooks your lawn.
Before retiring for the night I went to the window, just to have another
peep at Sirius and its changing lights, so I could not help seeing you
fling open the French windows, stand a little while on the step, and go
in again."
"Ah, you saw that? Then I have one witness who will help to dispel that
stupid policeman's notion that I killed Miss Melhuish, and hid her body
in the river at the foot of the lawn, hid it with such care that the
first passerby must find it.
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