They passed out and along the hall, Rawson wanting to see the disposition of the passages and stairs. At the door next to Miss Saunders’ he stopped, asking who occupied that room. It was vacant now but had been Joe Tracy’s. He opened the door and looked in upon another chintz-hung chamber, all signs of recent habitation removed that morning by Miss Pinkney’s energetic hand. A steamer trunk in the corner caught his attention and Bassett explained it was young Tracy’s trunk which his sister was to take back to New York with her.
Beyond that the hall ran into the gallery passing under an arch of carved wood. They traversed it, looking down into the richly colored expanse of the room below, and fared on under a companion arch into the last stretch of the hall. At the stair-head Rawson halted:
“Only two flights connecting with this floor, the one in the front by the library and this. Now the top story—how do you get to that?”
Bassett showed them a staircase at the end of the hall. He had never been up there himself, but some one, Mrs. Cornell, he thought, had. It was the servants’ quarters and had not been occupied during their stay, Miss Pinkney and her helper having had rooms on the gallery.
Later on they would take a look up there, the island was their business now. According to Williams, all this searching was merely a formality, and they descended the stairs conferring together. It was their purpose to keep Stokes and his wife from any possibility of private communication. Shine had been delegated to stay beside one or other of them, and so far, they had made no attempts to get together. Their amenability added to Williams’ suspicion and it was his suggestion that they should bring Stokes with them on their hunt. When that was finished they planned taking Mrs. Stokes to the place of the murder and making her rehearse just what she had seen.
Starting from the Point they explored the island foot by foot, scouting across the open expanses where a rabbit could hardly have hidden and prying into the hollows and rifts of the boulders on the shore. On the sea front, wedged between miniature cliffs, there were triangles and crescents of sand, bathing beaches with small pavilions built against the cliffs. But no foot-prints marred the sand’s wave-beaten smoothness, no trail of broken grass and brambles indicated the passage of a body. The path that followed the bluff’s edge, making a detour round the ravines, yielded neither trace nor clue. The dressing-rooms back of the amphitheater behind a clump of cedars, gave no sign of having harbored an alien presence. The little amphitheater itself, sunk in its green cup, lay open to their eyes as they stood on its brink. They walked among the stone seats, seamed with a velvet padding of moss, and gathered up a few programs, a pair of woman’s gloves and a necklace of blue beads.
That brought them to the end. The house had no outbuildings; garages, barns and sheds were in the village across the channel. There was no one in hiding on the island.
They found Flora, Shine and Mrs. Cornell on the balcony. As they came up Flora looked at them and then averted her glance as if in proud determination to show no curiosity. Rouge had been applied to her cheeks and her dry lips were a vivid rose color. The high tints showed ghastly on her withered skin but her dark eyes were scintillant with an avid burning vitality. It was like a face still holding the colors and hot warmth of youth suddenly stricken by untimely age.
Williams, halting at the foot of the steps, told her what they wanted—her position and Miss Saunders’ at the time of the shooting, going over the ground and making it clear to them. She rose alertly with a quick understanding nod—she would be glad to, it was her earnest desire to be of help to them in any way she could. Rawson noticed that she did not look at her husband but kept her eyes on Williams with an intent frowning concentration, moving her head in agreement with his instructions.
At the shore she was eager to explain everything, took her place on the path where she had been when she saw Sybil appear on the other side of the hollow. Her rendering of the scene was graphic and given with much careful detail. The men, grouped about, followed her indicating hand, stopping her now and then with a question. Stokes stood back watching, his face in the searching daylight smoothly yellow like a face of wax.