As I sat staring at it, Terry took it from Peter and handed it to me.
"Better give me a penny, Mrs. Pitman," he said in his impudent Irish
way. "I hate to give you a knife. It may cut our friendship."
I reached over to hit him a clout on the head, but I did not. The
sunlight was coming in through the window at the top of the stairs,
and shining on the rope that was tied to the banister. The end of the
rope was covered with stains, brown, with a glint of red in them.
I got up shivering. "You can get the meat at the butcher's, Terry," I
said, "and come back for me in a half-hour." Then I turned and went
up-stairs, weak in the knees, to put on my hat and coat. I had made up
my mind that there had been murder done.
CHAPTER III
I looked at my clock as I went down-stairs. It was just twelve-thirty.
I thought of telephoning for Mr. Reynolds to meet me, but it was his
lunch hour, and besides I was afraid to telephone from the house while
Mr. Ladley was in it.
Peter had been whining again. When I came down the stairs he had
stopped whimpering and was wagging his tail.
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