To this she made no reply save by a slight toss of her pretty head. If her employer felt nettled by this show of indifference, he did not betray it save by the rapidity of his tones as, without further preamble and possibly without real excuse, he proceeded to lay before her the case in question. “Last Tuesday night a woman was murdered in this city; an old woman, in a lonely house where she has lived for years. Perhaps you remember this house? It occupies a not inconspicuous site in Seventeenth Street—a house of the olden time?”
“No, I do not remember.”
The extreme carelessness of Miss Strange’s tone would have been fatal to her socially; but then, she would never have used it socially. This they both knew, yet he smiled with his customary indulgence.
“Then I will describe it.”
She looked around for a chair and sank into it. He did the same.
“It has a fanlight over the front door.”
She remained impassive.
“And two old-fashioned strips of parti-coloured glass on either side.”
“And a knocker between its panels which may bring money some day.”
“Oh, you do remember! I thought you would, Miss Strange.”