“Why—why, the one in the den—the bay window.”
“But your daughter—Miss Maida—was sitting in the bay window.”
“No, she was not,” Mrs. Wheeler spoke emphatically now. “She was not in the room at all. She had gone to the fire.”
“Oh, is that so? And then—what happened next?”
“Why—nothing. I—I ran upstairs again.”
“Appalled at what you had done?”
“Not appalled—so much as—as——”
“Unnerved?”
“Yes; unnerved. I fell on my bed, and Rachel looked after me.”
“Ah, yes; we will interview Rachel, and so save you further harrowing details. Come on, men, let’s strike while these irons are hot.”