THE SIAMESE CAT
When the other two slept soundly, Owen leaned toward Borkman.
"What was all this?" he whispered. His glance, in the lantern-light, was hard and severe. "What did you tell them at gendarmerie headquarters?"
"The facts, of course," said the guide readily. "Strange business, wasn't it? Saw directly by Miss Holborow's face that you'd found him. Well, that's the way I found him, too—dead—and the cat perched on the wall. Lied to them, obviously. Silly to frighten women about it, eh? What? Much in the dark as you. My dear chap, I'd give anything to know—"
The young man leaned back again. Perhaps, then, his thoughts had wronged Borkman; but if they had, what was all this tangle? What stratagems, what violence, could centre in the absurd figure of a cat? He must puzzle out the problem. But athwart his first efforts came the
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