"Mr. Heath," a low voice called in the passage, and Heath's tension relaxed, giving place to surprise.
The voice was strange to him, and he passed his handkerchief over his face and walked to the door, just as his name was called again, in the same low, penetrating voice.
"Who wants me?" he asked, almost roughly, and then he saw a tall, dark woman standing at the top of the staircase.
"Mrs. Wilder," he said in surprise, and she made a little imperious movement with her hand.
"I did not call your servant, I came up, because I wanted to find you alone. You are alone?"
"Certainly, I am alone."
"May I come in?"
Heath held the door open for her to pass, and she walked in, looking around the darkening room with hard, curious eyes.
She took the chair he gave her, in silence, and sat down near the writing-table, and, feeling that she would speak after a time, Heath took his own place again and waited.
"I hardly know where to begin," she said, always speaking in the same low, intent voice. "Do you recall the evening of the twenty-ninth?"