“I knew you would come!”

The clasp of the hand can mean a great deal, even when it is not intended to mean anything especially.  Miss Trelawny’s hand somehow became lost in my own.  It was not that it was a small hand; it was fine and flexible, with long delicate fingers—­a rare and beautiful hand; it was the unconscious self-surrender.  And though at the moment I could not dwell on the cause of the thrill which swept me, it came back to me later.

She turned and said to the police superintendent: 

“This is Mr. Malcolm Ross.”  The police officer saluted as he answered: 

“I know Mr. Malcolm Ross, miss.  Perhaps he will remember I had the honour of working with him in the Brixton Coining case.”  I had not at first glance noticed who it was, my whole attention having been taken with Miss Trelawny.

“Of course, Superintendent Dolan, I remember very well!” I said as we shook hands.  I could not but note that the acquaintanceship seemed a relief to Miss Trelawny.  There was a certain vague uneasiness in her manner which took my attention; instinctively I felt that it would be less embarrassing for her to speak with me alone.  So I said to the Superintendent: 

“Perhaps it will be better if Miss Trelawny will see me alone for a few minutes.  You, of course, have already heard all she knows; and I shall understand better how things are if I may ask some questions.  I will then talk the matter over with you if I may.”

“I shall be glad to be of what service I can, sir,” he answered heartily.

Following Miss Trelawny, I moved over to a dainty room which opened from the hall and looked out on the garden at the back of the house.  When we had entered and I had closed the door she said: 

“I will thank you later for your goodness in coming to me in my trouble; but at present you can best help me when you know the facts.”

“Go on,” I said.  “Tell me all you know and spare no detail, however trivial it may at the present time seem to be.”  She went on at once: 

“I was awakened by some sound; I do not know what.  I only know that it came through my sleep; for all at once I found myself awake, with my heart beating wildly, listening anxiously for some sound from my Father’s room.  My room is next Father’s, and I can often hear him moving about before I fall asleep.  He works late at night, sometimes very late indeed; so that when I wake early, as I do occasionally, or in the grey of the dawn, I hear him still moving.  I tried once to remonstrate with him about staying up so late, as it cannot be good for him; but I never ventured to repeat the experiment.  You know how stern and cold he can be—­at least you may remember what I told you about him; and when he is polite in this mood he is dreadful.  When he is angry I can bear it much better; but when he is slow and deliberate, and the side of his mouth lifts up to show the sharp teeth, I think I feel—­well, I don’t know how!  Last night I got up softly and stole to the door, for I really feared to disturb him.  There was not any noise of moving, and no kind of cry at all; but there was a queer kind of dragging sound, and a slow, heavy breathing.  Oh! it was dreadful, waiting there in the dark and the silence, and fearing—­fearing I did not know what!