“Was Mr. Wing’s body there then?” The demand was quick and imperative.
“No, siree! Do you s’pose I’d ’a’ waited till mornin’ to rout ’em out ef it had ben? Mr. Wing was in this ere room.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw his shadder on the curtain. He was walkin’ up an’ down. I seed him turn as I come up the drive.”
“But why didn’t you see him? The shade was up to that window, when he was found in the morning.”
“Yep; but they was all down when I come up the drive, an’ I saw his shadder agin ’em.”
Further questioning elicited no added information from the man, excepting the statement that as his cousin Jim swung on to the rear end of the car, another man had swung on to the front end, suddenly rushing out of the darkness. Jonathan did not know who it was; indeed, had hardly given the matter a thought, so anxious had he been lest Jim should be left. When he had gone, Trafford turned to Mrs. Parlin and asked:
“When do you think Mr. Wing intended writing that letter, if he hadn’t written it at ten minutes after midnight?”
“He must have changed his mind, after all,” she answered.
“Evidently, he did,” he said.