“Well—how did you make all those trial trips without exciting your sister’s curiosity? I knew your night habits pretty well at that time, remember. You were very seldom out late. Didn’t the change in your ways surprise her?”
“No; because she was away at the time. She went to pay several visits in the country soon after we came back from Wrenfield, and was only in town for a night or two before—before I did the job.”
“And that night she went to bed early with a headache?”
“Yes—blinding. She didn’t know anything when she had that kind. And her room was at the back of the flat.”
Denver again meditated. “And when you got back—she didn’t hear you? You got in without her knowing it?”
“Yes. I went straight to my work—took it up at the word where I’d left off—why, Denver, don’t you remember?” Granice suddenly, passionately interjected.
“Remember—?”
“Yes; how you found me—when you looked in that morning, between two and three ... your usual hour ...?”
“Yes,” the editor nodded.
Granice gave a short laugh. “In my old coat—with my pipe: looked as if I’d been working all night, didn’t I? Well, I hadn’t been in my chair ten minutes!”