Again that shadow of fierce annoyance, turning the blue eyes almost black. “Then what makes you say that she might have seen you?”
The dark eyes meeting his widened a trifle in something too tranquil for surprise—a mild, indolent wonder at the obtuseness of the human race in general, men in particular, and prosecutors more particularly still. “I say that because it might well be that in that little minute she have turn’ the back to me, or if she have not, then it might be that she see in the mirror.”
“There was a mirror?”
“But yes, on the other side of the hall from the study door there is a long, long chair—a what you call a bench—where the gentlemen they leave their hats. Over that there hangs the mirror. And it was by that bench that I see Mr. Farwell and Mrs. Ives.”
“And the desk and the bookcase were reflected in the mirror?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“I see. Now did you notice anything at dinner, Miss Cordier?”
“Nothing at all; everything was as usual, of an entire serenity.”
“It was at the usual hour?”
“At quarter past seven—yes.”