She—she admired the shawl. . . . Oh, why do you make me tell you this!"
"And you have never seen any one else with it on?"
"No; no one ever wore it except mother and Sibella."
Vance attempted to banish her obvious distress with a whimsical reassuring smile.
"Just see how foolish all your fears have been," he said lightly. "You probably saw your sister in the hall that night, and, because you'd been having bad dreams about your mother, you thought it was she. As a result, you became frightened, and locked yourself up and worried. It was rather silly, what?"
A little later we took our leave.
"It has always been my contention," remarked Inspector Moran, as we rode down-town, "that any identification under strain or excitement is worthless. And here we have a glaring instance of it."
"I'd like a nice quiet little chat with Sibella," mumbled Heath, busy with his own thoughts.
"It wouldn't comfort you, Sergeant," Vance told him. "At the end of your tête-à-tête you'd know only what the young lady wanted you to know."
"Where do we stand now?" asked Markham, after a silence.
"Exactly where we stood before," answered Vance dejectedly, "—in the midst of an impenetrable fog.—And I'm not in the least convinced," he added, "that it was Sibella whom Ada saw in the hall."
Markham looked amazed.
"Then who, in Heaven's name, was it?"
