“But I saw the scrimmage and it was a man who shot.”
“Are you sure? That thick, clouded glass blurs a shadow beyond recognition.”
“What makes you think it was a woman, then?”
“This,” and Norah pointed to a hatpin that lay on the big desk.
It was a fine-looking pin, with a big head, but when I was about to pick it up Norah dissuaded me.
“Don’t touch it,” she warned; “you know, Mr. Brice, we’ve really no right here and we simply must not touch anything.”
“But, Norah,” I began, my common sense and good judgment having returned to me with the advent of human companionship, “I don’t want to do anything wrong. If we’ve no right here, for Heaven’s sake, let’s get out!”
“Yes, in a minute, but let me think what you ought to do. And, oh, do let me take a minute to look round!”
“No, girl; this is no time to satisfy your curiosity or, to enjoy a sight of these——”
“Oh, I don’t mean that! But I want to see if there isn’t some clew or some bit of evidence to the whole thing. It is too weird! too impossible that three people should have disappeared into nothingness! Where are they?”