Returning to his direct investigation, the coroner led the witness back to the time preceding his entrance into the hall. “You were listening from your room; that room was dark, you were no longer watching the clock which had not yet struck; yet perhaps you can give us some idea of how long your cousin lingered at your uncle’s door before starting down the hall.”
“No, I should not like to do that.”
“Five minutes?”
“I cannot say.”
“Long enough to have entered that room and come out again?”
“You ask too much. I am not ready to swear to that.”
“Very good; I will not press you!” But the suggestion had been made. And for a purpose—a purpose linked with the mystery of which I have just spoken. Glancing at Mr. Jackson, I saw him writing in his little book. He had noted this too. I was not alone in my apprehension which, like a giant shadow thrown from some unknown quarter, was reaching slowly over to envelop me. When I was ready to listen again, it was to hear:
“What did you do then?”
“I went to bed.”
“Did you see or hear anything more of your cousin that night?”