“I think I’ll go to the smartest Fifth Avenue perfume shops and try to get a line on the maker of this paper.”
My door opened then, and the Chief of Police stood in the doorway.
“Will you come over, across the hall, Mr. Brice?” he said.
“May I come?” piped up Norah, and without waiting for the answer, which, by the way, never came, she followed us.
“We have learned a great deal,” began the Chief, as I waited, inquiringly. “And, now think carefully, Mr. Brice, I want you to tell me if the head you saw shadowed on the door, could by any possibility have been a woman’s head?”
“I think it could have been, Chief; we’ve been talking that over, and I’m prepared to say that it could have been,—but I don’t think it was.”
“And the shoulders? Though broad, like a man’s, might not a woman’s figure, say, wrapped in furs, give a similar effect?”
An icy chill went through me, but I answered, “It might; the outlines were very indistinct.”
“We are carefully investigating the movements of Miss Raynor,” he went on, steadily, “and we find she told a deliberate untruth about where she spent yesterday afternoon. She said she was at the house of a friend on Park Avenue. We learned the name of the young lady and she says Miss Raynor was not there at all yesterday. Also, we find that Miss Raynor was in this office after the calls of the old people we know about, and not before them, as Miss Raynor herself testified.”
“But——” I began.