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One was whether he had traced the old Russian whose coming had been the beginning of all the trouble, so far as I was concerned, anyway; and how he knew that a woman a red-haired woman as he had said had been in Cassavetti's rooms the night he was murdered.

"And when you got in you heard no sound from Mr. Cassavetti's rooms? They're just over yours, aren't they? Nothing at all, either during the night or next morning?" "Nothing. I was out all the morning, and when I came in I fetched up the housekeeper to help me pack. It was he who remarked how quiet the place was. Besides, the poor chap had evidently been killed as soon as he got home."

I omitted nothing; I said how I had seen Anne as I believed then and until this day in that boat on the Thames; how I had suspected, felt certain, that she had been to Cassavetti's rooms that night, and was cognizant of his murder; what I had learned from Mr. Treherne, down in Cornwall, and everything of importance that had happened since.

I half expected him to go up the stairs to Cassavetti's rooms, but he did not. He went down. I followed two minutes later, but saw nothing of him, either on the staircase or the street. He had vanished as suddenly and mysteriously as he had appeared. I whistled for a hansom, and, as the cab turned up Whitehall, Big Ben chimed a quarter to eight.

He had voiced the fear that had been on me more or less vaguely ever since I broke open the door and saw Cassavetti's corpse; and that had taken definite shape when I heard Freeman's assertion concerning "a red-haired woman." And yet my whole soul revolted from the horrible, the appalling suspicion.

He believed that the murder was committed by a woman; simply because a woman must have helped to ransack the rooms during Cassavetti's absence." "How did he know that?" "How did you know it?" he counter-queried. "Because he told me at the time that a woman had been in the rooms, but he wouldn't say any more, except that she was red-haired, or fair-haired, and well dressed.

He seemed in mortal fear of some "Selinski" or a name that sounded like that; and I did discover one point, that by Selinski he meant Cassavetti. When he found he had given that much away, he was so scared that I thought he was going to collapse again, as he did on the staircase. And yet he had been entrusted with a pass-key to Cassavetti's rooms! Only two items seemed perfectly clear.

I would have to relate how I encountered the old Russian, when he mistook my flat for Cassavetti's; but of the portrait in his possession, of our subsequent interview, and of the incident of the river steps, I would say nothing. For the present I merely stated how Jenkins and I had discovered the fact that a murder had been committed. "I dined in company with Mr.

The bit of stuff dangling from Cassavetti's pass-key; the hieroglyphic on the portrait, the flower Anne had given to Cassavetti, and to which he seemed to attach so much significance. All red geraniums. What did they mean?

My wife wears them, patent things, warranted not to fall out, so they always do. They cost half a crown a packet in that quality." I knew the sort, too, and knew also that my former suspicion was now a certainty. Anne had been to Cassavetti's rooms that night; though nothing would ever induce me to believe she was his murderess.