“Did you have the monkey in my room yesterday, Armstrong?”
“Non, Monsieur, it was I,” broke in Susanne. “I had carried him from Mademoiselle Anne’s bedroom. Jocko does not like ze parrot. He escape me down the corridor and run in your room. Before I get him he soil your counterpane and later I change it.” Leonard McLane, who had entered the library unobserved some moments before, smiled involuntarily.
“So much for that mystery,” he exclaimed. “What about the white hairs around the button on Meredith’s jacket, Curtis?”
“I saw Fernando an hour ago,” answered the blind surgeon. “He confessed that he had lied as to their color and stole them from my wallet, thinking to protect Anne. He admitted that you, Armstrong, cut the string from my door knob and intimidated him into lying about it. Fernando is not a courageous soul! He overheard your conversation with Jim Nolan, the notorious confidence man, alias Frank Elliott.”
Armstrong rose with such abruptness that he overturned his chair.
“I’m going,” he announced.
“With me,” and Detective Sergeant Brown was by his side, revolver in hand. Armstrong blanched and bit his lip. With shoulders sagging and head bent he accompanied Inspector Mitchell and Brown from the library. Escorted by the two men and Coroner Penfield, he slunk through the reception hall and out of the house, Susanne and Damason, their curiosity still unsatisfied, in their wake. Mrs. Hull, at a whispered word from McLane, also hurried from the room.
Curtis turned and took several restless steps up and down. He still had a most unpleasant duty to perform.
“Mrs. Meredith,” he began, pausing near her, “did you turn out the light in the corridor on Sunday night just after I discovered John Meredith’s dead body?”
“I did,” answered Anne, before her mother could reply. “I had some insane notion, after I found poor Uncle John, that I must slip back to my bedroom unseen, so I turned off the light. I met mother just at the entrance of our boudoir.”