Tales of Mystery
4. The Japanned Box (continued)
One evening Miss Witherton had gone down to Broadway, the
neighbouring village, to sing at a concert for some charity, and I,
according to my promise, had walked over to escort her back. The
drive sweeps round under the eastern turret, and I observed as I
passed that the light was lit in the circular room. It was a
summer evening, and the window, which was a little higher than our
heads, was open. We were, as it happened, engrossed in our own
conversation at the moment and we had paused upon the lawn which
skirts the old turret, when suddenly something broke in upon our
talk and turned our thoughts away from our own affairs.
It was a voice--the voice undoubtedly of a woman. It was low--
so low that it was only in that still night air that we could have
heard it, but, hushed as it was, there was no mistaking its
feminine timbre. It spoke hurriedly, gaspingly for a few
sentences, and then was silent--a piteous, breathless, imploring
sort of voice. Miss Witherton and I stood for an instant staring
at each other. Then we walked quickly in the direction of the
hall-door.
"It came through the window," I said.
"We must not play the part of eavesdroppers," she answered.
"We must forget that we have ever heard it."
There was an absence of surprise in her manner which suggested
a new idea to me.
"You have heard it before," I cried.
"I could not help it. My own room is higher up on the same
turret. It has happened frequently."
"Who can the woman be?"
"I have no idea. I had rather not discuss it."
Her voice was enough to show me what she thought. But granting
that our employer led a double and dubious life, who could she be,
this mysterious woman who kept him company in the old tower?
I knew from my own inspection how bleak and bare a room it was.
She certainly did not live there. But in that case where did she
come from? It could not be anyone of the household. They were all
under the vigilant eyes of Mrs. Stevens. The visitor must come
from without. But how?
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