I saw then that she wore a veil--not a heavy veil, but a fluffy, attractive thing that was yet sufficient to screen her features from me.
"I beg of you," she cried, "no light!" And as I paused, undecided, she added, in a tone which suggested lips that pout: "It is such a little thing to ask--surely you will not refuse." I suppose I should have insisted.

But her voice was charming, her manner perfect, and that odor of lilacs reminiscent of a garden I knew long ago, at home.
"Very well," said I.
"Oh--I am grateful to you," she answered.

Her tone changed.

"I understand that, shortly after seven o'clock last Thursday evening, you heard in the room above you the sounds of a struggle.

Such has been your testimony to the police ?" "It has," said I.
"Are you quite certain as to the hour ?" I felt that she was smiling at me.