not need it," the old gentleman replied, "music is always better
in the gloaming."

In order that you may understand what follows, it will be necessary
for me to describe to you our several positions in the room. The
apartment is large, nearly square, and occupies the southeast corner
of the house. The eastern side of the room has one window, that
which had been left open about six inches, and on the southern side
of the room there were two windows, both of which were securely
fastened and the blinds of which had been closed by the painters who,
that morning, had primed the eastern and southern sides of the house,
preparatory to giving it a thorough repainting. On the north side of
the room, but much nearer to the western than the eastern end, are
folding doors. These on this occasion were closed and fastened. On
the western side of the room is the piano, and to the left of it,
near the southwest corner, is a door leading to the hallway. This
door was closed. As I have already told you, Darrow sat in a
high-backed easy-chair facing the piano and almost in the centre of
the room. The partly opened window on the east side was directly
behind him and fully eight feet away. Herne and Browne sat upon
Darrow's right and a little in front of him against the folding
doors, while Maitland and I were upon his left, between him and the
hall door. Gwen was at the piano. There are no closets, draperies,
or niches in the room. I think you will now be able to understand
the situation fully.

Whether the gloom of the scene suggested it to her, or whether it
was merely a coincidence, I do not know, but Miss Darrow began to
sing "In the Gloaming" in a deep, rich contralto voice which seemed
fraught with a weird, melancholy power. When I say that her voice