He caught his breath.
"He might be that kind of a fool."
He sprang upright.
"Come along. We've got to turn up something in the house that will make Randall talk. Nora! If there had been letters do you think she would have destroyed them one by one? You see there was no chance after the murder, and don't women cling to such things?"
"She'd probably keep them," Nora said.
They climbed the hill. The unlighted house, like a thing dead itself and surrendered to decay, arose before them forbiddingly.
"Jones was right," Nora said. "It's spooky."
Garth crossed the verandah on tip-toe and silently opened the door.
"No lights," he breathed.
Nora shivered.
"It's as cold and damp here as the stone house. Can you find your way?"
"Yes. Sh-h."
He led her across the hall, up the staircase, and down the corridor to the dressing-room. The window had been closed in there, and there was no escape for a humid and depressing chill which enveloped them with discomfort.
He found the easy chair and told Nora to sit down. He drew another one close.
"But why not lights, Jim?"
"It's logic to wait awhile," he said. "The letters, you know."
