“About twenty yards away. Still, I could see quite clearly—the figure had disappeared.”
“Could you give any description of him at all?”
She pondered for a moment. “He seemed to be dressed in darkish clothes—that’s all I can say that I could rely upon.”
“Physically—how would you place him?”
Here she shook her head. “He was crouched down—his body wasn’t in a normal position. I couldn’t place him accurately.”
“Go on, Miss Considine, tell me of the other times.”
“There were two other occasions, Mr. Bathurst. One, the Thursday evening Mr. Prescott and I were again in the garden—it was before the Bridge party started. I purposely walked in the opposite direction to that we had taken on the Tuesday. We came round by the other path—leading past the billiard room and thence to the front of the house. When we reached there, we didn’t dally but turned quickly—we were afraid we should keep the card party waiting—and I am certain that we had been followed; I saw a figure crouching against the wall by the turn of the house—sheltering in its shadow. When we turned the figure dodged back quickly—and although we walked back quickly, I never saw it again.”
“Did Prescott see it?” queried Anthony.
“He said he didn’t when I mentioned it to him, but I am not sure that he wasn’t disclaiming the idea in order to stifle any fears I might have had.”
“In your opinion, Miss Considine, was it the same man that you had seen on the Tuesday?”