“Yes. I presume it was correct.”
Again Miss Gerald remained thoughtful and Bob glanced out toward the gardeners. One of them seemed to have edged nearer. Bob smiled a little glumly. After having caught him in the web, the spiders were now winding the strands around and around him. Spiders do that when they don’t want to devour their victim right off. They mummify the victim, as it were, and tuck him away for the morrow.
“Why”—the accusing presence was again speaking—“did you go down-stairs that first night of your arrival, after all the household had retired?”
Bob would have given a great deal not to answer that, but he had to. “I was showing some people out.”
“Your accomplices?”
“They might be called that.” Miserably. He wouldn’t “give away” Dan and the others, unless he had to—unless truth compelled him to designate them by name as his accomplices.
“Are you aware, Mr. Bennett, of the seriousness of your answer?”
“Yes, I know. But how did you know—that I went down-stairs?”
“I thought I heard some one go down. And then I got up and you went by my door, and I looked out, ever so quietly. You went in Dolly’s room and she woke up and caught you trying to take her brooch.”
Bob was silent. What was the use of talking?