“It is possible,” Stone agreed, “but not very probable. She denies they were acquainted?”
“Yes. Vows she never saw him until one night she went to his lecture, soon after her arrival here.”
“What is she in Corinth for?”
“To sketch—she’s an artist.”
“Go on.”
“Well, as I said, she must have come here that Sunday night, for one of the boarders at the house she lives in saw her cross the snowy field. Also, the footprints just fitted her shoes. Also, the tracks led right up on the side porch here to that long French window. And led right back again to the Adams house.”
“Whew!” Fibsy exploded, “aren’t you rubbing it in?”
“Well, that’s what they tell me—” Trask asserted, doggedly, “and I want you to know it all, Mr. Stone, before the other people tell you a garbled version.”
“Go on.”
“Then, they say, the girl left marks of her dress trimming on that chair, and Lockwood, the secretary, rubbed them off next morning, as soon as the body was discovered. We have the word of two witnesses for this episode.”