“No.”
“And didn’t you pass the front of the house?”
“No.”
A new tumult arose in court. The little man with the bunch of keys rose and said,
“I must ask the president to question Miss Douglas again—regarding what she says she heard that night.”
“If you please, Miss Douglas,” said the president.
With a long look at Paul she rose. They now stood close together in the wide, crowded court, as if they belonged to each other.
“Where did the steps vanish to which you heard when the glow of the fire woke you?”
“Towards the yard,” she replied, softly—hardly audible.
“And did you distinctly hear the handle of the garden gate rattle?”