“In her room at the end of the corridor,” I answered hoarsely.
“Is there any suspicion of murder?”
“Apparently none whatever. She had no visitor after I left.”
“And no suspicion of suicide?” he asked, with a sharp look. “Did you part friends?”
“Perfectly so,” I responded. “As to suicide, she had no reason, as far as anyone knows, to make an attempt upon her life.”
He gave vent to an expression which sounded to me much like a grunt of dissatisfaction.
“Now, be perfectly frank with me, Gerald,” he said, suddenly turning to me and placing his hand upon my shoulder. “You loved her very dearly once—was that not so?”
I nodded.
“I well remember it,” he went on. “I quite recollect how, on one occasion, you came over to London, and while dining together at Jimmy’s you told me of your infatuation, and showed me her photograph. Do you remember the night when you told me of your engagement to her?”
“Perfectly.”