“No. The doors, as you know, have never creaked.”
“I know nothing. You will perhaps enlighten me, and not take too much for granted.”
“I can say nothing but in answer to your questions.”
“And you know nothing of the hour of escape?”
“I know only that I saw her safely into bed last night, looking utterly tired out. She fell asleep almost before I left the room. This morning I found the door leading from my room into hers standing open, and that leading to the corridor off the latch.”
“Has she left anything behind her?”
“I found her hat and cloak in the wardrobe; I do not think she can have taken them.”
“Your deduction is beyond argument. A little less sleep would stir that muddled, dreamy brain of yours into some semblance, at least, of action.”
“I don’t think it’s the sleep that makes me stupid. It’s the dull greyness of the sky.”
“Maybe. What penalty are you inclined to pay for your neglect and lack of vigilance?”