“Which way?” Mr. Jamieson asked sharply.
“By the main entrance. He left—it was a quarter to three. I know exactly.”
“The clock in the hall is stopped, Miss Innes,” said Jamieson. Nothing seemed to escape him.
“He looked at his watch,” she replied, and I could see Mr. Jamieson’s snap, as if he had made a discovery. As for myself, during the whole recital I had been plunged into the deepest amazement.
“Will you pardon me for a personal question?” The detective was a youngish man, and I thought he was somewhat embarrassed. “What are your—your relations with Mr. Bailey?”
Gertrude hesitated. Then she came over and put her hand lovingly in mine.
“I am engaged to marry him,” she said simply.
I had grown so accustomed to surprises that I could only gasp again, and as for Gertrude, the hand that lay in mine was burning with fever.
“And—after that,” Mr. Jamieson went on, “you went directly to bed?”
Gertrude hesitated.