“Did Mr. Grant draw any blind or curtains?”
“There are muslin curtains attached to each side of the window. One cannot see into the room from a distance.”
Furneaux measured an imaginary line drawn from Doris’s bedroom to the edge of the cliff, and prolonged it.
“Nor can you see the river or foot of the lawn from your room,” he commented.
“No. In winter I can just make out the edge of the lawn. When the trees are in leaf, all the lower part is hidden.”
“You had actually retired to rest about eleven, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“So if Mr. Grant came out again you would not know?” Doris blushed furiously, but her reply was unfaltering.
“I would have known during the next half-hour, at least,” she said. “An inclined mirror hangs in my room. I use it sometimes for adjusting a hat. The square of light from Mr. Grant’s room is reflected in it, and any sudden increase in the illumination caused by opening the window or pulling the curtains aside would certainly have caught my eye.”
“You have an unshakable witness in Miss Martin,” said Furneaux, stabbing a finger at Grant. “Now, I’ll hurry off. You and I, Mr. Grant, meet at Philippi, otherwise known as the crowner’s quest.”