“No. I’m sure that she did not. Quite the contrary.”
“Quite the contrary?”
“I mean that I believe she disliked him particularly. I do not know why.”
He lifted his eyes from the pencil. They were clear now and very gray.
“You would likely know,” he said casually. “You possess the strangest aura of—integrity. One feels you are a respecter of confidences. I presume you are the repository of many secrets.”
“I’m sure I don’t know any secrets,” I replied hastily. The man needn’t think he could worm things out of me. “I wish,” I added, “I wish that you had talked to Higgins.”
His expression became serious at once.
“I wish so too,” he said soberly. “Though as far as that goes I did talk to Higgins, but couldn’t get a thing out of him. He must have been desperately afraid of getting into trouble.” He eyed the stub of pencil solicitously. “. . . getting into trouble,” he repeated musingly.
“If I had only known the danger he was in,” I said regretfully. “But somehow we never know until it is too late.”
“About this matter of the lights going out last night. It seems to coincide too strangely with the affair of Thursday night. The lights being out at that time was, of course, an accident, but one is inclined to think that someone profited by that accident to such an extent that he decided to repeat the fortuitous circumstances. But it was actually no accident this time; the switch plug had been purposely pulled out. Now then, the switch box is in the basement, on the wall next to the grade door that leads out just below the main entrance.”