“No,” was the reply, “but traces of them. That glass door, Reggie, is the entrance to a long, narrow conservatory, which opens right into the house at the other end. It isn’t much as far as plants go, just a lot of ferns and green things at one side, but there’s a broad sort of walk, and I saw a pipe or two lying on a little table, and some books and seats. There was one long deck-chair kind of thing, belonging to the cripple brother most likely. Evidently it’s a place that they keep for smoking and sitting in. I got close up to the other end and peeped in.”
“O Moore!” I exclaimed, interested but horrified, “supposing you had been seen!”
“But I wasn’t,” he answered in his most matter-of-fact way. “There was nobody about, even in the room I peeped into—I couldn’t make out if it was a sitting-room or a bedroom. It was dark and dullish-looking, as I think all the house must be; the windows are so narrow.”
“Perhaps it’s the cripple brother’s room,” I suggested; “bedroom and sitting-room in one, as he probably finds it difficult to go up and down stairs.”
Moore seemed struck by my acuteness.
“Yes,” he said. “I expect it is. It had the look of it.”
“Well?” I continued, surprised at the silence which ensued, “go on!” for he seemed to be thinking deeply.
“What do you mean?” he replied. ”‘Go on’ about what?”
“All that you saw, of course,” I answered impatiently. “Don’t begin thinking about it till you have told me the whole! Then we can discuss it together.”
He looked up in surprise.