“Miss Dunne seemed so upset over the loss of the box that I finally agreed to go back with her to look for it, though there seemed to me a very slight chance of anyone identifying it, and I did not particularly care to risk arousing anyone who still might be in the cottage. I had a flashlight, however, and we decided to make a hurried search as quietly as possible; so we started back, retracing our steps and keeping a sharp lookout for the box.
“When we got to the dirt cut-off leading to the cottage from the main driveway, we took it and approached as quietly as possible, standing for a moment just at the foot of the steps where the lilac bushes began and listening to see whether we could hear anything within. Miss Dunne said, ‘There’s not a sound, and no light either. I don’t believe there’s a soul around.’
“I said, ‘Someone has closed the windows and pulled down the shades in this front room. It was open when we were here before.’ Sally said, ‘Well, never mind—let’s look quickly and get away from here. I think it’s a horrid place.’ I turned on the flashlight and said, ‘We were much farther back than this.’ She said, ‘Yes; we were beyond these windows. Look! what’s this?’
“Something was glittering in the grass at the side of the steps, and I bent down and picked it up. It was a small object of silver and black enamel. I turned the light on it, and Miss Dunne said, ‘It’s one of those cigarette lighters. Look, there is something written on it. It says, Elliot from Mimi, Christmas.’
“Just then I heard a sound that made me look up. I said, ‘Listen, that’s a car.’ And I no more than had the words out of my mouth when I saw its headlights coming around the corner of the cut-off. I whispered, ‘Stand still—don’t move!’ because I could see that the headlights wouldn’t catch us, as we were standing far back from the road; but Miss Dunne had already pushed back into the shrubbery about the house. I stood stock-still, staring at the car, which had drawn up at the steps. It was a small car—a runabout, I think you call it——”
“Could you identify the make, Mr. Phipps?”
“No, sir; I am not familiar with automobiles. Just a small dark, ordinary-looking car. Two people got out of it—a man and a woman. They stood there for a moment on the steps, and when I saw who they were I came very close to letting out an exclamation of amazement. They went up the steps toward the front door.”
“Were they conversing?”
“Yes, but in low voices. I couldn’t hear anything until he said quite clearly, ‘No, it’s open—that’s queer.’ They went in, and I whispered to Miss Dunne, ‘Do you know who that was? That was Stephen Bellamy, with Mrs. Patrick Ives.’ Just as I spoke I saw a light go on in the hall, and a second or so later it disappeared and one sprang up behind the parlour shades. I was just starting over toward Miss Dunne when there was a crash from the parlour—a metallic kind of a crash, like breaking glass, and the light went out. I whispered, ‘Come on Sally; I’m going to get out of this!’ She started to come toward me, and someone inside screamed—a most appalling sound, as though the person were in mortal terror. I assure you that it froze me to the spot, though it was only the briefest interval before I again heard voices on the porch.”
“Could you see the speakers, Mr. Phipps?”