“I am sorry, Miss Carey, that all this bother is affecting you. Why are you so sad?”
“I—have gone through a great deal of trouble lately;—and been ill,” she answered, with hesitation, arresting her tears.
“Can I do anything for you?—help you in any way?”
“You are very kind, Mr. Ludlow; you have been kind to me all along. There’s nothing any one can do. Sometimes I wish I could die.”
“Die!”
“There is so much unhappiness in the world!”
George’s voice was heard in the hall with the policeman. Janet vanished. But whether it was through the floor or out at the door, I declare I did not see then, and don’t quite know to this day.
I and Cattledon were allowed to assist at the conference between Miss Deveen and the policeman: a dark man with a double chin and stripes on his coat-sleeve. After hearing particulars, and examining the room and the mess it was in, he inquired how many servants were kept, and whether Miss Deveen had confidence in them. She told him the number, and said she had confidence in all.
He went into the kitchen, put what questions he pleased to the servants, looked at the fastenings of the doors generally, examined the outside of the window and walked about the garden. George called him Mr. Stone—which appeared to be his name. Mr. Stone had nothing of a report to bring Miss Deveen.
“It’s one of two things, ma’am,” he said. “Either this has been done by somebody in your own house; or else the neighbours are playing tricks upon you. I can’t come to any other conclusion. The case is peculiar, you see, in-so-far as that nothing has been stolen.”