“Go on.”
“And I heard an exclamation or two in the den—that is, the smoking room. The door was almost closed. I pushed it open, and looked in. I saw some one on the floor. Impelled partly by curiosity, partly by a desire to be of assistance, I went to look—yes, I did bend over the body—I did, I dare say, get a smear of blood on my sleeve—” the girl shuddered, “but that’s the whole truth. I ran away at once, when I saw what it was.”
“Why did you run away?”
“Fright, horror, shock. I have never seen anything like that before and I scarcely knew what I was doing. I ran and hid in a closet—for no reason but that I was beside myself with fear and terror.”
“Who was in the den?”
“I saw no one but some man, who was looking out of the door into the studio.”
“You touched nothing in the room? Moved nothing?”
“N-no,” but Pearl Jane dropped her eyes, and Hutchins thought he noted a little gasp of alarm. Yet, who could connect this child with crime? Moreover, her story tallied with Charley’s. He said he saw her bend over the body. She admitted it. Henderson was in the room at that time—at the studio door calling for some one to find a doctor.
Doubtless the girl did exactly as she recounted, doubt less, too, the Chinaman’s story was true and he did see her as he described.
There was, so far, not the slightest reason to suspect either of these two of any connection whatever with the crime itself.
To the question, “Who did it?” there could be no convincing answer until Thomas Locke could be found and made to speak for himself.
