"Because—it was a woman, and I am a fool!" Wrayson answered.
There was a silence. Then the Colonel pushed back his chair and dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief. The room was certainly hot, and the handkerchief was wet.
"Tell me about it," he said quietly. "I expected something of the sort!"
"On that morning," Wrayson began, "I returned home about twelve o'clock, let myself in with my own latch-key, and found a woman standing before my open desk going through my papers."
"A friend?" the Colonel asked.
"A complete stranger!" Wrayson answered. "Her surprise at seeing me was at least equal to my own. I gathered that she had believed herself to be in the flat of Morris Barnes, which is the corresponding one above."
"What did you do?" the Colonel asked.
"What I should have done I am not sure," Wrayson answered, "but while I was talking to her the telephone bell rang, and I received that message which I spoke about at the inquest. It was a mysterious sort of business—I can hear that voice now. I was interested, and while I stood there she slipped away."
"Is that all?" the Colonel asked.
"No!" Wrayson answered with a groan. "I wish to God it was!"
The Colonel moved his position a little. The cigar had burnt out between his fingers, but he made no effort to light it.
"Go on," he said. "Tell me the rest. Tell me what happened afterwards."
