“Very well.”  But the look which the old detective threw at his bandaged legs was not without its pathos.

And so it happened that just as Mrs. Watkins was watching the wheeling out of her trunks, there appeared in the doorway before her, an elderly gentleman, whose expression, always benevolent, save at moments when benevolence would be quite out of keeping with the situation, had for some reason, so marked an effect upon her, that she coloured under his eye, and, indeed, showed such embarrassment, that all doubt of the propriety of his intrusion vanished from the old man’s mind, and with the ease of one only too well accustomed to such scenes, he kindly remarked: 

“Am I speaking to Mrs. Watkins of Nashville?”

“You are,” she faltered, with another rapid change of colour.  “I —­I am just leaving.  I hope you will excuse me.  I—­”

“I wish I could,” he smiled, hobbling in and confronting her quietly in her own room.  “But circumstances make it quite imperative that I should have a few words with you on a topic which need not be disagreeable to you, and probably will not be.  My name is Gryce.  This will probably convey nothing to you, but I am not unknown to the management below, and my years must certainly give you confidence in the propriety of my errand.  A beautiful and charming young woman died here last night.  May I ask if you knew her?”

“I?” She was trembling violently now, but whether with indignation or some other more subtle emotion, it would be difficult to say.  “No, I’m from the South.  I never saw the young lady.  Why do you ask?  I do not recognise your right.  I—­I—­”

Certainly her emotion must be that of simple indignation.  Mr. Gryce made one of his low bows, and propping himself against the table he stood before, remarked civilly:—­

“I had rather not force my rights.  The matter is so very ordinary.  I did not suppose you knew Miss Challoner, but one must begin somehow, and as you came in at the very moment when the alarm was raised in the lobby, I thought perhaps you could tell me something which would aid me in my effort to elicit the real facts of the case.  You were crossing the lobby at the time—­”

“Yes.”  She raised her head.  “So were a dozen others—­”

“Madam,”—­the interruption was made in his kindliest tones, but in a way which nevertheless suggested authority.  “Something was picked up from the floor at that moment.  If the dozen you mention were witnesses to this act we do not know it.  But we do know that it did not pass unobserved by you.  Am I not correct?  Didn’t you see a certain person—­I will mention no names—­stoop and pick up something from the lobby floor?”

“No.”  The word came out with startling violence.  “I was conscious of nothing but the confusion.”  She was facing him with determination and her eyes were fixed boldly on his face.  But her lips quivered, and her cheeks were white, too white now for simple indignation.