He switched on a light. That had not been cut off.
Then he remembered the people were away and the house was closed. Well, one of them could have returned from his summer resort to carry out his fell purpose, and return again. Who were the people?
Oh, yes, the Marsden St. Johns. Coe didn’t know one iota about them, but he proposed to find out.
He tried to learn the character of its inhabitant from the room itself.
But it seemed to him the abode of a lady. There were no clothes in the wardrobe, but a stray hairpin or two, and a scantily furnished workbasket were indicative of a departed feminine incumbent.
Still, this didn’t make it probable that a lady had carried Webb off. Her room, in her absence, might well be used by another.
Coe returned to Webb’s room, closed the fireplace carefully, unlocked the door and went down stairs.
He went to Miss Webb and asked about the people next door.
“A delightful family,” she said, “but very quiet. They are away much of the time. They leave very early for their summer place, and close the house the first of April. Then they return about October. But before the holidays they go South, and after the holidays to California or somewhere else, so that, as a matter of fact, they’re almost never at home,—if you can even call it their home.”
“Who occupies the front room on the third floor?”