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Father Lavigny declared his intention of going round outside the house to the place where Mrs. Leidner and I had seen the man standing.
“You never know, he might have dropped something. In the detective stories the criminal always does.”
“I expect in real life criminals are more careful,” I said.
I fetched some socks I had just finished darning and put them on the table in the living room for the men to sort out when they came in, and then, as there was nothing much more to do, I went up on the roof.
Miss Johnson was standing there but she didn’t hear me. I got right up to her before she noticed me.
But long before that I’d seen that there was something very wrong.
She was standing in the middle of the roof staring straight in front of her, and there was the most awful look on her face. As though she’d seen something she couldn’t possibly believe.
It gave me quite a shock.
Mind you, I’d seen her upset the other evening, but this was quite different.
“My dear,” I said, hurrying to her, “whatever’s the matter?”
She turned her head at that and stood looking at me—almost as if she didn’t see me.
“What is it?” I persisted.
She made a queer sort of grimace—as though she were trying to swallow but her throat were too dry. She said hoarsely: “I’ve just seen something.”
“What have you seen? Tell me. Whatever can it be? You look all in.”
She gave an effort to pull herself together, but she still looked pretty dreadful.
She said, still in that same dreadful choked voice: “I’ve seen how someone could come in from outside—and no one would ever guess.”
I followed the direction of her eyes but I couldn’t see anything.
Mr. Reiter was standing in the door of the photographic room and Father Lavigny was just crossing the courtyard—but there was nothing else.
I turned back puzzled and found her eyes fixed on mine with the strangest expression in them.
“Really,” I said, “I don’t see what you mean. Won’t you explain?”
But she shook her head.
“Not now. Later. We ought to have seen. Oh, we ought to have seen!”
“If you’d only tell me—”
But she shook her head.
“I’ve got to think it out first.”
And pushing past me, she went stumbling down the stairs.
I didn’t follow her as she obviously didn’t want me with her. Instead I sat down on the parapet and tried to puzzle things out. But I didn’t get anywhere. There was only the one way into the courtyard—through the big arch. Just outside it I could see the water boy and his horse and the Indian cook talking to him. Nobody could have passed them and come in without their seeing him.
I shook my head in perplexity and went downstairs again.
Twenty-four
MURDER IS A HABIT
