“I did,” she said.  “I remember it distinctly now that you mention it.  It closed sharply, but not very loudly.”

The investigator leaned back and began drumming upon the arm of his chair with his long supple fingers.

“Experience never quite takes away that comfortable feeling of satisfaction that the proving of a theory gives one,” said he.  “I suppose it is a sort of reward that Nature reserves for effort.”

And he smiled at his beautiful visitor’s puzzled look, and went on: 

“The cab driver says that the cry resembled that of a parrot or cockatoo.  What do you think?”

“It was not unlike their scream,” said Miss Vale.  “But I was too much startled to think of comparing it to anything at the time!”

“What happened after you heard this cry?”

“I waited for some little time, part way up the stairs.  Then the light which I had seen glancing over the walls and across the ceiling, seemed to halt and die down.  After this there was a pause, a stoppage of everything, and fear took possession of me.  Suppose Allan had really intended visiting the place—­suppose he had preceded me—­suppose something dreadful had just happened—­something in which he had had a part!

“Filled with thoughts like these, I ascended the remaining stairs.  There was a light shining through the lettered glass of the door at the front; but the hall was deserted; the far end was thick with shadows.  I tried the door where the light was, but it was fast; the door nearest the stairs was open; I entered by that, and passed into the front room through a communicating doorway.  Then I saw the—­the body, turned out the light, ran stumbling through the rooms and down the stairs.”

“Why did you turn out the light?” asked the investigator.

“I don’t know.  Partly, I suppose, to shut the awful thing upon the floor from my sight—­and partly—­”

She stopped, but Ashton-Kirk completed the sentence for her.

“And partly with the confused idea that you might hide the deed from public gaze and in that way save Allan Morris from the consequences of his crime,” said he.

At this she sprang up, her hands outstretched appealingly; the fear now plain in her face.

“No, no!” she cried.  “He is not guilty!  He did not do it!”

“My dear young lady,” said Ashton-Kirk, soothingly, “control yourself.  Don’t forget that before this thing is ended you will probably need all the self-command you can summon.”  Then as she resumed her seat, he added:  “I did not say that he was guilty.  I was merely telling you of the formless thought that you had in mind when you turned out the light.”

She sat staring at him, the horror of it all still in her eyes.  Then she nodded her head slowly, and said in a husky voice.