"I see," murmured Carroll. "Then you came downstairs and found Mrs.
Darcy lying here—dead?"
"I wasn't sure she was dead—"
"Oh, she was dead all right," broke in Thong. "No question about that. Did you hear anything?"
"Only the watch ticking in her hand. First I thought it was her heart beating."
"No, I mean did you hear anything in the night?" went on the detective. "Any queer noise? It's mighty funny if there was murder done and no robbery. But of course she might have heard a noise if you didn't, and she might have come down to find out what it was about. She might have caught a burglar at work, and he may have killed her to get away. But if it was a burglar it's funny you didn't hear any noise—like a fall, or something. How about that, Mr. Darcy?"
"Well, no. I didn't exactly hear anything. I went to bed about half past ten, after working at my table down here awhile."
"Was Mrs. Darcy in bed then?" Thong asked.
"I couldn't say. She had gone to her apartment, but I don't have to pass near that to get to my room. I came straight up and went to bed."
"At ten o'clock, you say?"
"A little after. It may have been a quarter to eleven."