"What hour did the young woman leave?" says he. "Two-fifty-five train," mother said. "We saw her off ourselves."
"And you saw the watch—when?" says the policeman to me.
"A good deal later," I told him. "After I came in from a walk."
"What hour?" says he again.
"I don't know—exactly," I said, though I could have told pretty near. I was frightened at all this questioning.
"When you went to take off your hat?" says mother.
I said "Yes."
"Then it couldn't have been before six," says she. "I know it wasn't long after you were in before it got dark, for you didn't sit many minutes over your work, before you took a turn in the garden, and it was dark then."
"Took a turn in the garden after dark!" says the policeman, and he had his eyes on me.
"She was upset about Mary Russell going, and wanted a breath of air," mother said. "I spoke about Mary, and she couldn't stand it."