“Never mind,” said the red-headed girl with dignity. “I can cry if I want to. I can cry all night if I want to. Keep quiet. Here she is!”
“Mrs. Ives, what made you decide to go on to the cottage?” Lambert’s voice was very gentle.
“I think that it was Stephen’s idea, but I’m not absolutely sure. I was at my wit’s end by this time, you see. But I believe that it was Steve who suggested that maybe she had been taken ill or perhaps even fallen asleep at the cottage. I remember agreeing that it was stupid of us not to have thought of that before. At any rate, we both agreed to go on to the cottage.”
She stopped again and sat for a moment locking and unlocking her fingers, her eyes fixed on something far beyond the courtroom door.
“What time did you arrive at the cottage?”
“At about quarter past ten, I believe—twenty minutes past perhaps. It isn’t more than a five-minute drive. We drove the car up through the lodge gates and then turned off the little dirt road to the cottage. We drove it right up to the front steps, and then I said, ‘It’s no good; there’s no light in the place. She isn’t here.’ Steve said, ‘Maybe she left a note saying where she was going,’ and I said, ‘That’s perfectly possible. Let’s go in and see.’ He helped me out, and just as we got to the door, I said, ‘Well, we’ll never know. The place will be locked, of course.’ Steve had his hand on the door knob, and he pushed it a little. He said, ‘No, it’s open. That’s queer.’ I said, ‘Probably she thought that he might come later.’ And he opened the door and we went in.”
She sat staring with that curious, intent rigidity at that far-off spot beyond the other closed door, and the courtroom followed her glance with uneasy eyes.
“And then?”
“Yes. And then when we got in there wasn’t any light, of course. Steve asked, ‘Do you know where the switch is?’ And I told him, ‘There isn’t any switch. Douglas has always been talking about putting electricity in these cottages, but he never has.’ Steve said, ‘Well, there must be a light somewhere,’ and I said, ‘Oh, of course there is. There always used to be an old brass lamp here in the corner by the front door—let’s see.’ It was right there on the same table. There were matches there, too, and I struck one of them and lit it. Steve had stepped by me into the room; he was standing by the door, and he stood aside to let me pass. There was a little breeze from the open door, and I had put up one hand to shield the light and keep it from flickering. I was looking at the piano, because I’d never remembered seeing a piano there before. I was half-way across the room before I—before I——” The voice shuddered slowly away to silence.