"Footsteps of some one coming down the hall into the library," replied Kennedy. "I fancied from slight noises which I heard that Honora was in there, alone, reading perhaps. I thought I caught the rustle of paper."
I could now make out the vibrations more clearly, then the low, almost inaudible buzz of a voice.
"Now it's plainer," I whispered.
Kennedy frowned. "They can't hear you," he reminded. "Still—don't forget I can."
I took the broad hint and was silent. Kennedy adjusted the machine for loudness and gradually I could hear the lowered voices being caught and played up.
It was Honora speaking to her maid, Celeste, who had just entered.
"You've been down in Mrs. Smith's apartment?" we heard Honora ask.
"Yes, madame."
Kennedy shot a glance at me. Two, then, could play at the same game of watching. Evidently the maid had evolved the scheme of visiting some friendly maid in the building, and from that vantage-point watching the watchers. I trusted that she had seen nothing of us. It could hardly be that she had—or at least that they suspected the presence of the dictagraph, or they would not have talked even in whispers, when they might have written and thus have been safe from being overheard. I was beginning to be relieved.
"Why did that McCabe tell you he had a day off?" asked Honora, thoughtfully. "Did he really go?"