“How long has she been with you?” I pursued.
“And you know her well; her antecedents and associates?”
“Yes; I know her; all that there is to know. She is not a deep person, nor is she worthy your questions. Let us drop Philippa.”
“In one moment,” I returned. “In a case like this I must satisfy myself thoroughly as to the character and past history of all who are in the house. I have seen Philippa, and consequently push my inquiries in her regard first. With whom did she live before she came to you, and where does she spend her time when she is not with you in the house?”
Mrs. Winchester grew visibly impatient. “Follies!” she cried; then, hurriedly, as if anxious to be done with my importunities, “Philippa is the daughter of the clergyman who married my husband and myself. I have always known her; she came from her father’s death-bed to my house. As for associates, she has none; and the time she spends out of my rooms is so small that I think it is hardly worth inquiring how or where it is employed. Have you any further inquiries to make?”
I had, but I reserved them. “Will you let me speak to Philippa?” I asked.
Her gesture was one of the utmost disdain, but it contained an acquiescence of which I was not slow in availing myself. Stepping rapidly into the hall, I approached the slight figure I had managed to keep in view during this conversation.
But at my first movement in her direction the young girl started, and before I could address her she had passed through the doorway of the opposite room and disappeared in the darkness beyond.
I immediately stepped back to the lady I had left.
“Do those rooms communicate with a back staircase?” I inquired.
“Yes,” she returned, with uncompromising coldness.
I was baffled; that is, as far as Philippa was concerned. Accepting the situation, however, with what grace I could, I bowed my acknowledgments to Mrs. Winchester, and excusing myself for the moment, went hurriedly below.
I found her husband awaiting me with ill-concealed anxiety.
He drew me into a remote corner of the room, where, without our conversation being overheard, he could still keep his eye on the staircase, visible through the half-open door.
“The thief was no chance one; he not only knew that your house contained diamonds, but he knew where to find them and when. Either a signal was given him when to enter or the diamonds were thrown into his hand out of the window. Does my conviction coincide with yours?”