His words set me thinking. If my visitor had not come in through the doorway, how then had she gained access to my balcony, which is on the first floor, and between twenty and thirty feet above the ground. Turner volunteered a statement on his own account.
“And the last man who went out was Mr. Lawrence’s brother.”
I pricked up my ears at this.
“Mr. Lawrence’s brother? Oh.”
“Yes—Mr. Philip, I think his name is. He came down not three minutes before I saw you, just as I was going to take up Mr. Maynard—that was Mr. Maynard who got out as you got in. He seemed to be in a big hurry. I said good night as he went past, but he said nothing. He had a big parcel in his arms, almost as much as he could carry.”
“You are sure it was Mr. Lawrence’s brother?”
“It was him right enough. My cousin’s his coachman—I ought to know him.”
“You say he came down three minutes ago?”
“Not three minutes ago, I said.”
Then, in that case, he must have been with his brother some time after my visitor had come to me. The knowledge occasioned me distinct relief.