Page:Burton Stevenson--The marathon mystery.djvu/307



WAS conscious, in a dim way, that the end was at hand, that we were about to penetrate the mystery. Indeed, I already had a vague inkling of the truth—too vague to be put into words, too obscure to be discerned clearly. I was trembling with eagerness; I endeavoured to string upon a common thread the bits of evidence which had seemed to Godfrey so important—the bottle, the scratches on the wall, the coat-rack, the broken cane, the note; but for the life of me I could see no connection between them. Yet I knew there must be, or Godfrey would not now be walking up and down the room with a face so beaming, so triumphant…

“Miss Croydon will see you at once, sir,” announced Thomas from the threshold, and we followed him to the farther end of the corridor, where he tapped at a door. A voice bade us enter.

She was standing by a window, looking out across the waters of the bay, and she did not turn for an instant—not, indeed, until Godfrey had closed the door carefully behind him. I have seen few women more regal, more magnificent, yet there was about her—in her face, in the droop of her figure—such an air of utter misery, of exquisite suffering, that, after the first moment, one forgot to admire her in the desire to be of service.