“Good,” said Harley, smiling. “A clever woman, and a woman of spirit, Knox.”
“You are right,” I replied, “and you are also right in supposing that I have a communication to make to you.”
“Ah, I thought so. What is it?”
“It is a theory, Harley, which appears to me to cover the facts of the case.”
“Indeed?” said he, continuing to stare at me. “And what inspired it?”
“I was staring up at the window of the smoke-room to-day, and I remembered the shadow which you had seen upon the blind.”
“Yes?” he cried, eagerly; “and does your theory explain that, too?”
“It does, Harley.”
“Then I am all anxiety to hear it.”
“Very well, then, I will endeavour to be brief. Do you recollect Miss Beverley’s story of the unfamiliar footsteps which passed her door on several occasions?”
“Perfectly.”
“You recollect that you, yourself, heard someone crossing the hall, and that both of us heard a door close?”
“We did.”
“And finally you saw the shadow of a woman upon the blind of the Colonel’s private study. Very well. Excluding the preposterous theory of Inspector Aylesbury, there is no woman in Cray’s Folly whose footsteps could possibly have been heard in that corridor, and whose shadow could possibly have been seen upon the blind of Colonel Menendez’s room.”
“I agree,” said Harley, quietly. “I have definitely
