A sharp shudder went through her. "I am very nearly convinced of it," she said. "But I shall never know for certain now."
"And you imagine that the murderer can have followed you here?" he pursued.
"No! Oh no!" Hastily she made answer. "It is ridiculous of course. He would never be such a fool as to do that. It was only my imagination. I saw the figure at the window and was reminded of him."
"Are you sure the figure at the window was not imagination too?" said Monck. "Forgive my asking! Such things have happened."
"Oh, I know," Stella said. "It is a question I have been asking myself ever since. But, you know—" she smiled faintly—"I had no fever that night. Besides, I fancy you saw him too."
His smile met hers. "I saw many things that night as they were not. And you also were overwrought and very tired. Perhaps you had had an exciting supper!"
She saw that he meant to turn the subject away from her husband's death, and a little thrill of gratitude went through her. He had seen how reluctant she was to speak of it. She followed his lead with relief.
"Perhaps—perhaps," she said. "We will say so anyhow. And now, do you know, I think you had better have your tea and rest. You have done a lot of talking, and you will be getting feverish again if I let you go on. I will send Peter in with it."
He raised one eyebrow with a wry expression. "Must it be Peter?" he said.
She relented. "I will bring it myself if you will promise not to talk."