And that whatever that thing was, it was definitely, strongly inimical. It was not Rob. It was nothing friendly. It was stealthy and purposeful and horribly evil. It was as if murder itself had become living and was walking there on furtive feet in the black and murmurous night. Detached from hum...
said Noel after a moment. He spoke stiffly. “She—was strangled. Wasn’t she?” “Then it is your revolver?” repeated the detective. Noel shrugged helplessly. “Of course it’s mine. At least it looks like mine. And I had one in my bag. But I don’t know how it got there.” “Why did you have it with you?...