“Harley,” I said, “on your word of honour did you recognize anything in the movements, or in the outline of the figure, by which you could identify the woman?”
“I did not,” he replied, shortly. “It was a woman who wore some kind of loose robe, possibly a kimono. Beyond that I could swear to nothing, except that it was not Mrs. Fisher.”
We fell silent for a while. What Paul Harley’s thoughts may have been I know not, but my own were strange and troubled. Presently I found my voice again, and:
“I think, Harley,” I said, “that I should report to you something which Miss Beverley told me this evening.”
“Yes?” said he, eagerly. “I am anxious to hear anything which may be of the slightest assistance. You are no doubt wondering why I retired so abruptly to-night. My reason was this: I could see that you were full of some story which you had learned from Miss Beverley, and I was anxious to perform my tour of inspection with a perfectly unprejudiced mind.”
“You mean that your suspicions rested upon an inmate of Cray’s Folly?”
“Not upon any particular inmate, but I had early perceived a distinct possibility that these manifestations of which the Colonel complained might be due to the agency of someone inside the house. That this person might be no more than an accomplice of the prime mover I also recognized, of course. But what did you learn to-night, Knox?”
I repeated Val Beverley’s story of the mysterious footsteps and of the cries which had twice awakened her in the night.
“Hm,” muttered Harley, when I had ceased speaking. “Assuming her account to be true——”
“Why should you doubt it?” I interrupted, hotly.