not been for this new and engrossing
interest. I remember that the long French windows of the library
reflected the room like mirrors against the darkness outside, and that
once I thought I saw a shadowy movement in one of them, as though a
figure moved behind me. But when I turned sharply there was no one
there, and Maggie proved to be, as usual after nine o'clock, shut away
upstairs.

I was not terrified. And indeed the fear never returned. In all
the course of my investigations, I was never again a victim of the
unreasoning fright of those earlier days.

My difficulty was that I was asked to believe the unbelievable. It was
impossible to reconstruct in that quiet house a scene of violence. It
was equally impossible, in view, for instance, of that calm and filial
inscription in the history of Bolivar County, to connect Miss Emily with
it. She had killed a woman, forsooth! Miss Emily, of the baby afghans,
of the weary peddler, of that quiet seat in the church.

Yet I knew now that Miss Emily knew of the confession; knew, at least,
of something concealed in that corner of the rear hall which housed the
telephone. Had she by chance an enemy who would have done this thing?
But to suspect Miss Emily of an enemy was as absurd as to suspect her of
a crime.

I was completely at a loss when I put out the lights and prepared to
close the house. As I glanced back along the hall, I could not help
wondering if the telephone, having given up its secret, would continue
its nocturnal alarms. As I stood there, I heard the low growl of thunder
and the patter of rain against the windows. Partly out of loneliness,
partly out of bravado, I went back to the telephone and tried to call
Willie. But the line was out of order.

I slept badly. Shortly after I returned I heard a door slamming
repeatedly, which I knew meant an open window somewhere. I got up and
went into the hall. There was a cold air coming from somewhere below.
But as I stood there it ceased. The door above stopped slamming, and
silence reigned again.

Maggie roused me early. The morning sunlight was just creeping into the
room, and the air was still cool with the night and fresh-washed by the
storm.

"Miss Agnes," she demanded, standing over me, "did you let the cat out
last night?"

"I brought him in before I went to bed."

"Humph!" said Maggie. "And did I or did I not wash the doorstep
yesterday?"

"You ought to know. You said you did."

"Miss Agnes," Maggie