"But you didn't hear the shot in your brother's room?"
"No. I must have been asleep by then."
"Did you hear anything before that?"
"Not after the family had gone to bed and Sproot had locked up."
"Were you awake very long after Sproot retired?"
The girl pondered a moment, frowning.
"Maybe an hour," she ventured finally. "But I don't know."
"It couldn't have been much over an hour," Vance pointed out; "for the shot was fired shortly after half past eleven.—And you heard nothing—no sound of any kind in the hall?"
"Why, no." The look of fright was creeping back into her face. "Why do you ask?"
"Your brother Rex," explained Vance, "said he heard a faint shuffling sound and a door closing a little after eleven."
Her eyelids drooped, and her free hand tightened over the edge of the magazine she was holding.
"A door closing. . . ." She repeated the words in a voice scarcely audible. "Oh! And Rex heard it?" Suddenly she opened her eyes and her lips fell apart. A startled memory had taken possession of her—a memory which quickened her breathing and filled her with alarm. "I heard that door close, too! I remember it now. . . ."
"What door was it?" asked Vance, with subdued animation. "Could you tell where the sound came from?"
The girl shook her head.
"No—it was so soft. I'd even forgotten it until
