Tom stopped aghast at his door with the key in his hand. It was again half-open.
"That's odd," he murmured, "it begins to be quite uncanny; I could have taken my oath that this time I shut the door and locked it, too."
Wallion pricked up his ears. "This time?" he said.
"Yes, when the porter's wife gave the alarm I forgot it and left it open, but now? It certainly is very odd."
Wallion became much interested; secretly he measured the distance between the door and the stairs leading to the studio; but he made no remark, and turning the handle of the hall door walked in.
Tom who had changed color, laid a detaining hand on his arm.
"Maurice," he panted, "just a minute, I've got something to tell you."
Wallion turned his head and fixed his penetrating grey eyes on Tom.
"Look here, Tom," he said calmly, "a little while ago you asked me whether I thought the girl in gray was guilty? You then heard me insist that it was a man who had killed Dreyel. Do you take me?"
The young man was dumbfounded. Wallion smiled, opened the door and went in; all was dark.