"When you looked at Marcia, did you notice a lot of burnt matches scattered about?"
"I was not interested," said Bohun, "in burnt matches. No. I didn't turn on the lights. What the hell's wrong with you, anyway? Speak up!"
Willard went over and sat down on the other side of the fireplace. "They were colored matches, it seems. The kind (I think?) every bedroom in this house has been supplied with, ever since Maurice got the fancy for them. Wait!" He held up his hand. "The police will be asking these questions, John, and it's ordinary sanity to think of them. There were no such matches at the pavilion. Unfortunately, I can swear to that. Except for the actual murderer, I must have been the last person to see Marcia alive. When they lit those fires for her last night, they left no matches in the house…"
"That reminds met said Bohun. "Maid! Her maid. Carlotta! Where has Carlotta been all this time?"
Willard looked at him sharply. "Curious, John. I thought you knew that. She left Carlotta behind in London. Leave of absence, or something. Never mind. There were no colored matches, none of any kind, at the pavilion. I gave her a box of the ordinary sort before I left.
"Now let's face it. Casual burglars don't strew the floor with colored matches; let me give you a hint there. But I don't need to hint very broadly. There were very queer things going on in this house itself. At some time last night, something scared old Canifest's daughter, terrified her nearly out of her wits. I heard her cry out, and found her lying on the floor in the passage near the bathroom. I couldn't get a coherent word out of her, except a reference to something or somebody walking up and down in the passage, and the somebody or something had seized her wrist. But she spent the rest of the night with Katharine."
Bennett heard the fire crackle. John Bohun, who had, been opening a silver cigarette-box, closed it with a snap and turned round.
"Louise," he said, "Louise Carewe is here?"
"Why not? She's a friend of Katharine; she's been in America for several months, and hasn't seen her. Why should it surprise you? — I wish to God you wouldn't be so jumpy, my lad," he added, rather testily. "It's a good thing you never did become an actor. You'd have the audience embarrassed for you in five minutes."
"Oh, I don't know," observed the other. His long hands cupped the match to his cigarette. The flame showed a kind of swaggering, feverish, secret mirth in his eyes. "I don't know. I might make a better actor than you think. No, it didn't surprise me. Only I was talking to Canifest himself early last night. At his office. And he didn't mention it. Well, well. Maybe she disturbed a family ghost. Have we got any other visitors?"