“But you are quite certain that you saw the man there?” I said, much interested in her story.
“Quite. He was of middle height, dressed in dark clothes, and wore a cloth peaked cap, like men wear when golfing in England,” she replied. “He was evidently in search of something I had in my writing-table, but he did not find it. Nevertheless, he read a quantity of my letters mostly from school-friends.”
“And your love-letters?” I asked, with a smile.
“Well, if the fellow read any of them,” she laughed, “I hope he was very much edified. One point is quite plain. He knew English, for my letters were nearly all in English.”
“Some spy or other, I suppose.”
“Without a doubt,” she said, clasping her white hands before her and raising her wonderful eyes to mine. “And do you know, Uncle Colin, the affair has since troubled me very considerably. I wanted to see you and hear your opinion regarding it.”
“My opinion is that your window ought not to have been left open.”
“It had not been. The maid whose duty it is to close the windows on that floor one hour before sunset every day has been closely questioned, and declares that she closed and fastened it at seven o’clock.”
“Servants are not always truthful,” I remarked dubiously.
“But the intruder was there with some distinct purpose. Don’t you think so?”