"You say there was a light moving about; but what else did you see?"
"Nothing."
"But you heard something?"
"Yes; the revolver shot, and then the dreadful cry that followed it."
Ashton-Kirk unclasped his hands from about his knee, placed them upon
the arms of his chair and leaned forward.
"But between the two--after the shot, and before the cry, you heard a
door close," he said.
She gave a little gasp of surprise.
"I did," she said. "I remember it distinctly now that you mention it.
It closed sharply, but not very loudly."
The investigator leaned back and began drumming upon the arm of his
chair with his long supple fingers.
"Experience never quite takes away that comfortable feeling of
satisfaction that the proving of a theory gives one," said he. "I
suppose it is a sort of reward that Nature reserves for effort."
And he smiled at his beautiful visitor's puzzled look, and went on:
"The cab driver says that the cry resembled that of a parrot or
cockatoo. What do you think?"
"It was not unlike their scream," said Miss Vale. "But I was too much
startled to think of comparing it to anything at the time!"
"What happened after you heard this cry?"
"I waited for some little time, part way up the stairs.
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