"Yes, she did; Miss Westbrook, too."
"Did you notice what colors?"
"Mrs. Westbrook's costume was of some light color, but Miss Westbrook's was—"
With a startled exclamation the young man stopped and stared strangely at Converse. For some incomprehensible reason his mind was flooded with the vision of a bit of fabric protruding from a bullet-hole in a carved oak panel.
"Well?" curtly.
"Black," McCaleb said, in a whisper, "dead black."
For a moment the Captain returned the other's regard in silence; then he said in his customary quiet way:
"Very good, Mac. Now, let us get through with the driveway."
They proceeded to the handsome wrought-iron gates, but without observing anything more of moment; and passing through them to the sidewalk, they continued to the front gate. Just inside the latter the Captain paused and indicated with the lamp the bordering bed of flowers.
"Just as I expected," he observed; "here's where the midnight caller made his exit. Still tiptoeing, too—see? The bed was a little too wide for him to jump across, and his toe sank deep into the soft earth—an active, athletic man to make a jump like that. He cut right across the lawn from the driveway."