“My dear Knox, it is my business to doubt everything until I have indisputable evidence of its truth. I say, assuming her story to be true, we find ourselves face to face with the fantastic theory that some woman unknown is living secretly in Cray’s Folly.”
“Perhaps in one of the tower rooms,” I suggested, eagerly. “Why, Harley, that would account for the Colonel’s marked unwillingness to talk about this part of the house.”
My sight was now becoming used to the dusk, and I saw Harley vigorously shake his head.
“No, no,” he replied; “I have seen all the tower rooms. I can swear that no one inhabits them. Besides, is it feasible?”
“Then whose were the footsteps that Miss Beverley heard?”
“Obviously those of the woman who, at this present moment, so far as I know, is in the smoking-room with Colonel Menendez.”
I sighed wearily.
“This is a strange business, Harley. I begin to think that the mystery is darker than I ever supposed.”
We fell silent again. The weird cry of a night hawk came from somewhere in the valley, but otherwise everything within and without the great house seemed strangely still. This stillness presently imposed its influence upon me, for when I spoke again, I spoke in a low voice.
“Harley,” I said, “my imagination is playing me tricks. I thought I heard the fluttering of wings at that moment.”