“What were you worried over?”
She was silent for a moment, then went on. “Mr. Warren had not come to the house. He always stopped working about six and dressed for dinner. But when it got after six, I called the library. In fact, I called it on the phone several times, but I received no reply. Then I went out of the house, and, going to the library, knocked on the door. No one answered. But—” She paused.
A murmur started around the room as they waited for her next words. She paused and continued:
“But I thought I heard a sound in the library.”
“What do you mean by a sound?” was the question.
She hesitated as if not sure of her words, then said:
“It's hard to say. It was just as I started to reach my hand for the knocker upon the door. A sound hard to describe, like a chair being pushed across the floor, or like glass breaking; I am not sure.”
I gave a quick glance at Ranville, who sat with his head on one side looking at the witness. His face was calm, yet there was an interested look in his eyes. Like breaking glass the woman had said, and I thought of the broken door of the bookcase. I remembered that both Carter and his friend had thought it absurd that the murderer should have had anything to do with the broken door of the bookcase. But at the woman's words I began to wonder if they were right.
“What did you do after you heard this noise?”
“It was hardly what you would call a noise,” retorted the woman. “It was very faint, but I thought I heard something. I knocked on the door then, but no one answered. The door was locked.”