“What did you do?”
“I ran out the kitchen door and, seein’ flames, I ran toward the garage.”
“Before you ran, you were at the rear of the house—I mean the south side, weren’t you?”
“Yes, sor, I was.”
“You passed along the south veranda?”
“Not along it,” the cook looked at him wonderingly—“but by the end of it, like.”
“And did you see any one on the veranda? Any one at all?”
The woman thought hard. “Well, I sh’d have said no—first off—but now you speak of it, I must say I do have a remimbrance of seein’ a figger—but sort of vague like.”
“You mean your memory of it is vague—you don’t mean a shadowy figure?”
“No, sor. I mean I can’t mind it rightly, now, for I was thinkin’ intirely of the fire, and so as I was runnin’ past the end of the verandy all I can say is, I just glimpsed like, a person standin’ there.”