“And the shade?” I asked, turning.
“Was——was down.”
“You are sure, madam?”
“Quite; it was by the noise it made as I opened the door that I noticed
the window was open.”
“Your first glance, then, was not at the mantel-piece?”
“No, sir, but my second was.” Her self-possession was almost cold.
This great lady evidently did not enjoy her position of witness,
notwithstanding the heavy loss she had sustained, and the fact that the
inquisition being made was all in her own interests. I was not to be
repelled by her manner, however, for a suspicion had seized me which
somewhat accounted for the words and method pursued by Mr. Winchester,
and a suspicion once formed, holds imperious sway over the mind of a
detective till it is either disproved by facts or confirmed in the same
manner into a settled belief.
“Madam,” I remarked, “your loss is very great, and demands the most
speedy and vigorous effort on the part of the police, that it may not
result in a permanent one. Has it struck you”——and I looked firmly at
the young girl whom, by my change of position, I had brought again into
view——“that it was in any way peculiar that chance thieves working in
this dangerous and conspicuous manner should know just the moment to
make the hazardous effort which resulted so favorably to themselves?
These burglaries which, as you say, have been so plentiful of late,
have hitherto all taken place at the hour the family are supposed to be
at dinner, while this occurred just when the family would reasonably
be supposed to be returning up-stairs. Besides, the gas was burning in
this room, was it not?”
“Yes.”
“And the shades down?”
“Yes.”
“So that, till the stoop had been climbed and the room entered, the
thief had every reason to believe it was occupied, unless he had
notification to the contrary from some one better situated than
himself?”
The lady’s eyes opened, and a slight, sarcastic smile parted her lips;
but I was not studying her at this moment, but the young Philippa.
Humble as she evidently was, and in a condition of mind that caused
her to place a restraint upon herself, she took a step forward as I
said this, and her mouth opened, as if she would fling some word into
the conversation that would neither bear the stamp of humility nor
sustain her previous rôle of indifference. But a moment’s thought was
sufficient to quell her passionate impulse, and in another instant she
was gliding quietly from the room, when I leaned toward Mrs. Winchester
and whispered:
“Request the young woman to wait in the hall outside, and suggest that
she leave the door open. I do not feel like letting out of my sight
just yet any person, no matter how reliable, who has listened to my
last remark.”
Mrs. Winchester looked surprised, and eyed me with something of the
expression she might have betrayed if I had begged her to stop a mouse
from escaping the conference we were holding. But she did what I asked
her, and that with a cold, commanding air which proved that, however
useful she found the deft and graceful Philippa, she had no real
liking for her or any interest in her beyond that which sprang from
the value of her services. Was this state of things the fault of Mrs.
Winchester or of Philippa? I had not time to determine. The docility of
the latter was not, perhaps, to be trusted too far, especially if, as
I half suspected, there was some tie between her and the thieves who
had carried off Mrs. Winchester’s jewels; and while she still lingered
where I could see her, I must put the question so evidently demanded by
the gravity of the situation.
“Mrs. Winchester,” I said, “is there any one in your house whom you
think capable of being in league with the robbers?”
The question took her by surprise; she started, and the flush
reappeared on her cheek. “I do not understand you,” she began; but,
speedily recovering her self-possession, she exclaimed, in a low but
emphatic tone, “No; how could you think of such a thing? It is the work
of professional burglars and of them alone.”