Her marvellous magnetism attracted me strongly, but it did not blind me to the strength of her nature. While I could not, as yet, believe her in any way implicated in the death of her uncle, I was fully convinced she knew more concerning it than she had told and I knew, unless forced to, she would not tell what she desired to keep secret.
My sympathy, of course, was with her, but my duty was plain. As a detective, I must investigate fairly, or give up the case.
At this juncture, I knew the point at issue was the presence of Miss Lloyd in the office last night, and the two yellow rose petals I had picked up on the floor might prove a clue.
At any rate it was my duty to investigate the point, so taking a card from my pocket I wrote upon it: “Find out if Miss Lloyd wore any flowers last evening, and what kind.”
I passed this over to Mr. Monroe, and rather enjoyed seeing his mystification as he read it.
To my surprise he did not question Florence Lloyd immediately, but turned again to the maid.
“At what time did your mistress go to her room last evening?”
“At about ten o'clock, sir. I was waiting there for her, and so I am sure.”
“Did she at once retire?”
“No, sir. She changed her evening gown for a teagown, and then said she would sit up for an hour or so and write letters, and I needn't wait.”