“No, sir.”
Judithe opened the door and looked in; seeing that McVeigh was apparently occupied, and not alone, she was about to retire when he begged her to remain for a few minutes. He avoided her questioning eyes, and offered her a chair, with that conventional courtesy reserved for strangers. She noted the papers in his hand, and the odd tones in which he spoke; she was, after all, debarred from confessing; she was to be accused!
“A slight mystery is abroad here, and you appear to be 377 the victim of it, Madame,” he said, without looking at her. “Margeret, last night when Miss Loring sent you into the corridor just before the shot was fired, did you see any of the ladies or servants of the house?”
“No, sir.”
There was not the slightest hesitation in the reply, but Judithe turned her eyes on the woman with unusual interest. Colonel McVeigh consulted his notes.
“Miss Loring distinctively heard the rustle of a woman’s dress as her door opened; did you hear that?”
“No, sir.”
“You saw no one and heard no one?”
“No one.”
There was a pause, during which he regarded the woman very sharply.