“Six o’clock? And was there no one at the house when you got there?”
“No one.”
“You saw no trace of anyone having been there?”
“No. I found the key of the door in the lock and naturally I thought that Frank had left it there—that you and he were inside. You remember that you told me to be there about six o’clock, and that you and Frank would be there before then.”
“Yes. That was the arrangement, but—well, never mind that, Elsie, now; tell me your story.”
“I opened the door and walked in,” she said. “I called out ‘Is there anybody in?’ but I got no answer. I thought then that you and Frank were in one of the sheds, and I sat down in the sitting-room, expecting you would be back in a moment. I took the key out of the door so as to make you knock in order to get in. The rain was just commencing then, but it had been blowing hard for half an hour. About ten minutes after I had been in the sitting-room there was a knock at the front door. Naturally I thought it was you. I rushed to open it and as I flung it back I asked what had kept you so long. But the man on the door step was a stranger—this Mr. Marsland.”
“What is he like?” asked Brett quickly.
“He is rather good-looking; fair-haired and fair-skinned and blue-eyed—the Saxon type. He is about medium height—not quite so tall as you.”
“How old is he?”
“Quite young—about 26 or 27, I should say.”