“Did he appear ill on that last day?”
“Not so much ill, as——”
“Yes?” I prompted.
She was silent a long time, while I waited, afraid that some word of mine had brought back her former attitude of hostility. Then she seemed to make up her mind.
“I oughtn’t to say another word. I’ve said too much, already. But you’ve been liberal with me, sir, and I know somethin’ you’ve a right to be told, which I’m thinkin’ no one else is agoin’ to tell you. Look at the bottom of his study door a minute, sir.”
I followed her direction. What I saw led me to drop to my hands and knees, the better to examine it.
“Why should he put a rubber strip on the bottom of his door?” I asked, getting up.
She replied with another enigmatical suggestion:
“Look at these, if you will, sir. You’ll remember that he slept in this study. That was his bed, over there in the alcove.”
“Bolts!” I exclaimed. And I reinforced sight with touch by shooting one of them back and forth a few times. “Double bolts on the inside of his bedroom door! An upstairs room, at that. What was the idea?”