Leon was wet from head to foot: there was not a dry square centimetre upon him. But he was his old cheerful self as he stamped into the hall, shaking himself free of his heavy mackintosh.
“Digby, of course, heard nothing, George.”
“I’m the lightest sleeper in the world,” said Aunt Alma, “but I heard not a sound. The first thing I knew was when a policeman came up and knocked at my door and told me that he’d found the front door open.”
“No clue was left at all?”
“Yes,” said Aunt Alma. They went into the drawing-room and she took up from the table a small black bottle with a tube and cap attached. “I found this behind the sofa. She’d been lying on the sofa; the cushions were thrown on the floor and she tore the tapestry in her struggle.”
Leon turned the faucet, and, as the gas hissed out, sniffed.
“The new dental gas,” he said. “But how did they get in? No window was open or forced?”
“They came in at the door: I’m sure of that. And they had a woman with them,” said Aunt Alma proudly.
“How do you know?”
“There must have been a woman,” said Aunt Alma. “Mirabelle would not have opened the door except to a woman, without waking either myself or Mr. Digby.”