“He may have felt better for a little while,” suggested the man from Scotland Yard.
“Well, I know I very nearly went in to speak about his hauling the furniture about like that. I should have, only I was supposed to be lying down. Then I heard the French window opened. I suppose, as you say, sir, he felt a bit better and stood there for a breath of air, but the rain was coming down so just then that I couldn't be sure what I heard. I had the blind down, it had come over so dark, and was working by the electric light. I didn't hear anything more, for which I'm thankful; I mean to say, I don't think I could stand it to've heard him shut himself into that wardrobe—it's quite bad enough to've heard what I did. When I went in to get the room ready for Mr. Beale the window-catch was open, though the window had blown shut. To think that when I was getting the room ready I actually tugged at the door of that wardrobe. My goodness, if it had opened!”
“You heard nothing more?”
“Nothing, sir. Not a sound.”
“You didn't hear Mr. Eames walk up and down on the balcony or pass your window?”
“The rain was pouring so just then, sir, that he might have shouted and I shouldn't have heard anything outside. What I mean to say, it really was a clatter which came on just then, so as you couldn't hardly hear yourself think.”
“You didn't look out at all after the blind was down?”
“Oh, no, sir, I had a rush to get the dress done in time as it was.”
“Humph.” Pointer seemed in no hurry to speak. The Eames case was to remain a “suicide” as long as possible.
“How were you sure it was Mr. Eames? I mean when you heard the glass clink? It might have been some friend of his in there at first?”