“Yes, indeed. It had been dark for some little time.”
“It did not occur to you to telephone to Mrs. Carrington, I infer, to inquire concerning her husband, or to express your sympathy,” said Nick.
“Well, I think quite likely I should have done so,” Mrs. Ringold replied; “but I first undertook to call up my friend, Mrs. Waldmere, and I found that the telephone was out of order. That precluded both communications.”
“And you suspected nothing wrong?”
“No, nothing whatever. I did not dream of such an imposition as my husband has just mentioned.”
Nick did not add to his inquiries. He directed both to say nothing about the matter, and after a word of regret for having disturbed them, he withdrew from the house with his assistant.
“Now, Patsy, we’ll have a look at those wires,” he said quietly, after Ringold had closed the front door.
“I’m with you, chief,” Patsy nodded.
They had no difficulty in finding where the wires entered the house, a point near one of the library windows. As Nick had predicted, moreover, they were found to be neatly cut and the instrument temporarily rendered useless.
“Here are tracks of the rascal’s boots,” he remarked, pointing to some imprints in the damp earth. “He stole in here after getting the invitation cards and cut the wires.”