“It was high up,—in the air, as it were. That seemed its oddest feature.”
The inspector’s mouth took a satisfied curve. “Possibly I might identify the door and passage, if I saw them,” I suggested.
“Certainly, certainly,” was his cheerful rejoinder; and, summoning one of his men, he was about to give some order, when his impulse changed, and he asked if I could draw.
I assured him, in some surprise, that I was far from being an adept in that direction, but that possibly I might manage a rough sketch; whereupon he pulled a pad and pencil from his pocket and requested me to make some sort of attempt to reproduce, on paper, my memory of this passage and the door.
My heart was beating violently, and the pencil shook in my hand, but I knew that it would not do for me to show any hesitation in fixing for all eyes what, unaccountably to myself, continued to be perfectly plain to my own. So I endeavored to do as he bade me, and succeeded, to some extent, for he uttered a slight ejaculation at one of its features, and, while duly expressing his thanks, honored me with a very sharp look.
“Is this your first visit to this house?” he asked.
“No; I have been here before.”
“In the evening, or in the afternoon?”
“In the afternoon.”
“I am told that the main entrance is not in use to-night.”