In the center was
a table upon which stood a lamp with a large mosaic shade. Two
high-backed chairs were set to the table--and the table was laid for
supper! A bottle of wine stood in an ice-pail, in which the ice had
long since melted, and a tempting cold repast was spread. The table
was decorated with a bowl of perfect white roses. The silver was good;
the napery was snowy.
Like a fool I stood gaping at the spectacle, until, noting the
direction of Gatton's glance, I turned my attention to the mantelpiece
upon which a clock was ticking with a dull and solemn note.
Standing beside the clock, in a curious carved frame, was a large
photograph of Isobel!
CHAPTER VI
THE VOICE
"This is where the mystery centers," said Gatton.
I made no reply, for I had not yet recovered from the shock of that
discovery in the deserted supper room. It was so wholly unexpected and
yet it so cruelly confirmed the Inspector's undisguised suspicions
that it seemed to me to have created a sort of impalpable barrier
between us. Of this Gatton was evidently conscious. He endeavored to
arouse my interest in the inquiries which he was conducting in the
garage, but for long enough I saw nothing of the place in which we
stood; I could only see that photograph smiling at me inquiringly
through a haze of doubt, and my companion's words reached me in a
muffled fashion. Finally, however, I succeeded in rousing myself from
this dazed condition, and confident as ever that Isobel was innocent
of all complicity in the matter:
"The presence of the photograph," I said, "takes us a step further.
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