As he spoke Ada appeared at the archway, her eyes wide.
“Some one’s been in my room,” she announced, in a frightened voice. “The French doors to the balcony were partly open when I went up-stairs just now, and there were dirty snow-tracks across the floor. . . . Oh, what does it mean? Do you think——?”
Markham had jerked himself forward.
“You left the French doors shut when you went out?”
“Yes—of course,” she answered. “I rarely open them in winter.”
“And were they locked?”
“I’m not sure, but I think so. They must have been locked—though how could any one have got in unless I’d forgotten to turn the key?”
Heath had risen and stood listening to the girl’s story with grim bewilderment.
“Probably the bird with those galoshes again,” he mumbled. “I’ll get Jerym himself up here this time.”
Markham nodded and turned back to Ada.