It startled me and I whirled to face him.
“Miss Keate,” he began again. “I—— Could you—— There is something I want to tell you.” He spoke in a hesitating, reluctant manner as if he were not sure he wanted to tell me, after all.
“What is it?” I inquired crisply.
He swallowed audibly and cleared his throat.
“I—I’ve been wondering—— It is this way, Miss Keate. I want to know what you think I had better do.”
I squared around for a better look at him. He was rather pale and played nervously with his furnace-stained cap.
“What about, Higgins?” I said kindly.
He made a motion to speak, checked it and peered furtively up and down the path. Owing to its twisting he could not see very far either way, so he leaned over toward me and spoke in a half-whisper.
“It is about the night of June seventh,” he said mysteriously.
The words focussed my attention sharply.