There is Scotch blood in my veins; I did not see why she should charge it against me as a fault. I told her so. She laughed outright. Miss Adair was a charming woman, but I will own that I was glad when we reached our destination. She was in a provoking mood, as she showed by the remark she made as she got out of the cab.
“Now to interview this ideal conception of what our mothers should be.”
I did not reply. I followed her into the lift.
“The top floor,” I said.
But as we were passing the first floor, she started from her seat.
“There’s Bessie!” she cried.
From where I sat, as I turned my head, I was just in time to see my last night’s visitor vanish round the corner of the staircase. We were still ascending. I told the lift-man to return. When he had done so, and we were out upon the landing, the lady was already some distance along the corridor. She had passed my rooms, and was moving rapidly towards No. 64.
“Where is she going?” asked Miss Adair. “Bessie!”
Her call went unheeded. Apparently the other did not hear. She continued to hasten from us as if she were making for a particular goal, with a well-defined purpose in view. I thought it probable that the dead man’s body was still somewhere in his chambers, and certainly all the plain evidences of the tragedy would have been studiously left untouched.
“Quick!” I exclaimed. “She doesn’t know what she is doing; she is going to Lawrence’s room, where he lies murdered. We must stop her before she gets there.”