“For what can it mean except that there is someone in Cray’s Folly who is never seen during the daytime?”
“But that is incredible.”
“It is not so incredible in a big house like this. Besides, what other explanation can there be?”
“There must be one,” I said, reassuringly. “Have you spoken of this to Madame de Stämer?”
“Yes.”
Val Beverley’s expression grew troubled.
“Had she any explanation to offer?”
“None. Her attitude mystified me very much. Indeed, instead of reassuring me, she frightened me more than ever by her very silence. I grew to dread the coming of each night. Then—” she hesitated again, looking at me pathetically—“twice I have been awakened by a loud cry.”
“What kind of cry?”
“I could not tell you, Mr. Knox. You see I have always been asleep when it has come, but I have sat up trembling and dimly aware that what had awakened me was a cry of some kind.”
“You have no idea from whence it proceeded?”
“None whatever. Of course, all these things may seem trivial to you, and possibly they can be explained in quite a simple way. But this feeling of something pending has grown almost unendurable. Then, I don’t understand Madame and the Colonel at all.”
She suddenly stopped speaking and flushed with embarrassment.
“If you mean that Madame de Stämer is in love with her cousin, I agree with you,” I said, quietly.
“Oh, is it so evident as that?” murmured Val Beverley. She laughed to cover her confusion. “I wish I could understand what it all means.”
