Brett closed the door carefully and selected a chair near Douglas, and sat down heavily. Douglas pulled out his cigarette case and handed it to the detective, who picked out a cigarette and, striking a match, settled back in his chair contentedly as he watched the rings of smoke curling upward.
“I am glad of an opportunity to have a quiet word with you, Mr. Hunter,” he began. “Things have been moving pretty swiftly to-day, and I’m free to confess that the death of Annette has stumped me. Was it murder or suicide?”
“Everything points to suicide.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” drawing his chair nearer and lowering his voice. “I’ve been searching Annette’s belongings and have found several things which puzzle me completely.”
“What were they?”
“Well, for one thing, the torn kimono.”
“What—you don’t mean——?”
“Exactly. Annette apparently owned a wrapper precisely like Miss Thornton’s, and it was she who paid you that midnight visit when you spent the night in the library on Tuesday evening at the Carew residence. I found the wrapper upstairs among her effects. She had mended the tear very neatly, but the slip which you tore out of it that night exactly fitted the darn. I had the slip with me in my pocket and fitted the two together.”
“Great Scott! what on earth was she doing in the library at that hour?”