to leave the island. Patrick, a silent massive countryman, with a stolid bull-dog face, thrust out his chin and nodded. He slouched off, the sound of his heavy boots loud on the rocks. The others turned toward the house, the light from its opened door falling outward in a long golden square. The occupants of the room heard them and looked at one another. Mrs. Cornell, with clenched hands, slowly stood up, and the rest, like people in church who see a figure rise and simultaneously[Pg 118] follow its example, got to their feet. They stood by their chairs, motionless, all facing the same way. It was like an ensemble scene in a theater. [Pg 118] The three men entered and under the shadow of the gallery paused for a moment surveying the standing figures much as they might have looked at some spectacle arranged for their approval. William was surprised at their number and their line ranged like a battle front. Rawson’s sharp eye ran over the faces, mentally ticketing them, and Bassett, with no precedent to guide him, walked toward his associates and announced: “Ladies and gentlemen, the authorities have come. Mr. Rawson and Mr. Williams.” They bowed and then not knowing what to do next, subsided into their seats. The men came forward, moving to the long table where Williams sat down, fumbling in his pocket for a fountain pen and paper and clearing a space for the taking of notes. Rawson, surveying the seated assemblage, said: [Pg 119] [Pg 119] “This is the whole of your company, Mr. Bassett?” “All who were here at the time of the murder. Several of the actors and assistants left at five-thirty and Joe Tracy, one of the company at a quarter to seven.” “You saw them go?” “I saw the first lot go. I didn’t see Tracy. But,” he looked at Anne, “this is his sister, Miss Tracy. She probably did.” “Did you, Miss Tracy?” said Rawson. Her voice was very low but steady and clear: “Yes, he went.”
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