He called an officer from the next room.
"Has any one been here since my absence?"
"No, General."
"Has any one passed through the hall?"
He had fully anticipated the answer, as the subaltern replied, "Only the
women servants."
He re-entered the room. Closing the door, he again carefully examined
the box, his table, the papers upon it, the chair before it, and even
the Chinese matting on the floor, for any further indication of the
pollen. It hardly seemed possible that any one could have entered
the room with the flower in their hand without scattering some of the
tell-tale dust elsewhere; it was too large a flower to be worn on the
breast or in the hair. Again, no one would have dared to linger there
long enough to have made an examination of the box, with an officer in
the next room, and the sergeant passing. The box had been removed, and
the examination made elsewhere!
An idea seized him. Miss Faulkner was still absent, the mulatto had
apparently gone home. He quickly mounted the staircase, but instead of
entering his room, turned suddenly aside into the wing which had been
reserved. The first door yielded as he turned its knob gently and
entered a room which he at once recognized as the "young lady's
boudoir.
Pages:
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124