te like the way he
put this. "Yes," she said steadily.

"You didn't take the elevator up, then?"

"No. I'm not used to automatic elevators. I rang when I got to the
door. Nobody answered, but the door was wide open. I rang again, then
went in and switched on the light. There didn't seem to be anybody in.
I didn't feel right about it. I wanted to go. But I wouldn't because
I thought maybe he--your uncle--was trying to dodge me. I looked into
the bedroom. He wasn't there. So after a little I went to a door into
another room that was shut and knocked on it. I don't know why I
opened it when no answer came. Something seemed to move my hand to the
knob. I switched the light on there."

"Yes?" James asked, gently.

The girl gulped. She made a weak, small gesture with her hand, as
though to push from her mind the horrible sight her eyes had looked
upon. "He was dead, in the chair, tied to it. I think I screamed.
I'm not sure. But I switched off the light and shut the door. My
knees were weak, and I felt awf'lly queer in the head. I was crazy to
get away from the place, but I couldn't seem to have the power to move.
I leaned against the door, weak and limp as a small puppy. Then I
heard some one comin' up the stairs, and I knew I mustn't be caught
there. I switched off the lights just as some one came to the landing
outside."

"Who was it? Did he come in?" asked Jack.

"He rang and knocked two or three times. Then he came in. I was
standing by the table with my hand on some kind of heavy metal
paperweight. His hand was groping for the light switch. I could tell
that. He must have heard me, for he called out, 'Who's there?' In the
darkness there I was horribly frightened. He might be the murderer
come back. If not, of course he'd think I had done it. So I tried to
slip by him. He jumped at me and caught me by the hand. I pulled away
from him and hit hard at his face. The paper-weight was still in my
hand and he went down just as though a hammer had hit him. I ran out
of the room, downstairs, and out into the street."

"Without meeting anybody?"

"Yes."

"You don't know who it was you struck?"

"Unless it was Kirby."

"Jove! That explains the bruise on his chin," Jack cried out. "Why
didn't he tell us that?"

The color flushed the young woman's cheeks. "We're friends, he and I.
If he guessed I was the one that struck him he wouldn't tell."

"How would he guess it?" asked Ja