"Course! How do you suppose we came in?--through the window? Not hardly, that's not my line, and so I tell you."
Graham returned to the woman.
"Be so good as to give me the key with which you obtained admission to these premises."
The woman put her hand up to her neck, for the first time showing signs of discomposure.
"The key?"
Starting back, she looked about her wildly, and broke into a series of shrill exclamations.
"The key!--my key!--no!--no!--no!--It is all I have left--the only thing I've got. I've kept it through everything--I've never parted from it once. I won't give it you--no!"
She came closer to him; glaring at him with terrible eyes.
"It's my key--mine! I took it with me when I went that night. He was sitting in here, and I came downstairs with the key in my pocket, and I went--and he never knew. And I've kept it ever since, because I've always said that one day when I went back I should want my key to let me in: I hate to have to stand on the step while they are letting me in."
Mr. Graham was regarding her intently, as if he was endeavouring to read what stood with her in the place of a soul.