I believe. I have been here ten, and was very comfortable, save that Madame and I disagreed on many points. She was always rude to me, and I don't think she was a lady." Miss Bull drew herself up. "My father was a general," she declared proudly.
But Quex was too busy examining the room to attend to Miss Bull's family history. He searched for the weapon with which the crime had been committed, but could find none. There was no blood on the furniture, although some had trickled down from the wound onto the table-cloth. The blow must have been struck strongly and surely, and with the power of a deadly hatred. It was at this moment that the doctor arrived, and, turning the body over to him, Quex conducted Miss Bull back to the drawing-room, where he examined all who were in the house. "Has any one left this morning?" he asked. Jarvey had seen Mr. Granger go out, and said so. Even while he was speaking Mr. Granger returned, and, filled with suspicion, Quex examined him first.
Granger, when he saw what the inspector was bent upon, expressed the greatest indignation. "How dare you accuse a gentleman of such a thing?" he cried. "I went out to compose my nerves."
"Into the fog?" asked Quex, doubtfully.
"Yes, sir, and I should have gone out into snow and hail if I had desired. There was no intimation that none were to leave the house. Had a notice been given to that effect I should have remained."
"I beg your pardon," said Quex, seeing that the old gentleman was fuming, and seeing also that such a senile creature, with so sheeplike a face, was innocent enough, "but it is my duty to be suspicious."
"But not to accuse innocent people of a crime, sir."
"No. But, for the sake of an example, will you tell me what you did with yourself since leaving the drawing-room last night at ten?"
"Certainly. I have no reason to conceal my doings, officer," said Mr. Granger, angrily. "I retired to my bedroom at ten and to bed. The last I saw of Madame she was standing on the door-step bidding farewell to her guests. In the morning I was awakened by the news of the murder, and went out to walk off the horror produced by the sight of that poor woman."
"Did you see the body?"
"We all saw the body, till Miss Bull-"
"I turned them out and locked the door," put in Miss Bull, sharply.
"It was as well that nothing should be disturbed in the room till the police arrived. That was my argument."
"And a very good one," said Quex, approvingly. "You have a head on your shoulders, Miss."
"My father was a general," replied the old maid, nodding, "and I inherit his talent for organization."
The next witness examined was Margery, and she refused to open her mouth unless she sat by Miss Bull. The old maid held Margery's hand and coaxed her into answering when she proved recalcitrant. Quex could not but admire the way in which Miss Bull managed the lumpish creature.
"You left the drawing-room with this lady?" he asked, indicating Miss Bull, and speaking in a persuasive tone.
"Yes. We played 'Patience' in Miss Bull's bedroom. I did it twice."
"At what time did you leave?"
"About eleven-just before it."
"Did the clock strike the hour when you were in your own bedroom?"
"No," said Margery, trying to collect her wits, "when I was in the passage."
"What were you doing in the passage? It would only take you a few minutes to get to your room, would it not?"
"Yes," put in Miss Bull. "My bedroom is on the second floor, and Margery's is on the fourth, right above my head. You could easily have got to your room before the clock struck, Margery.
"I did try to," admitted the girl, "but my aunt kept me talking."
Quex sat up. "Did you speak to your aunt at that hour?"
"Yes. She met me walking up to my room, and scolded me for being out of bed at that hour. I said I had been with Miss Bull, and-"
"And Madame made polite remarks about me," said the old maid, grimly. "Oh, I can well understand what she said. But it would seem, Mr. Inspector, that Margery was the last person to see Madame alive."
"We'll see," said Quex, who was not going to be taught his business even by so clever a person as Miss Bull. "Was there any one else about?" he asked Margery.
"No. My aunt said that every one was in bed but me, and that she would not have it. The clock struck eleven, and she called me names. She then took me by the arm and pushed me into my room and locked the door. Yes, she did," nodded Margery, vindictively; "she locked the door."
"Why did she do that?" asked Quex staring.
"I don't know. I wasn't doing anything," grumbled Margery, "but she said she wouldn't have me wandering about the house at all hours of the night and locked me in. I couldn't get out this morning till Miss Bull let me out."
"Margery usually brings me my cup of tea," explained Miss Bull, "and as she did not come this morning as usual I was anxious. When the alarm came I went to look for Margery in her room. The key was in the door, but the door was locked. I released Margery."
"Oh, the key was in the door," mused Quex. "It would seem, then, that the deceased simply turned the key and left it. Humph! I wonder why she locked the girl in?"
Miss Bull shrugged her thin shoulders. "It was spite on her part," she said. "Madame never cared to see Margery with me."
"Because I love you so," said the girl with an adoring look, and Miss Bull patted her hand fondly. It was strange, thought the inspector, that so clever and refined a woman should love so stupid and coarse-looking a girl. But like does not always draw to like.
While Quex was thus examining the witnesses, Train and Brendon were seated in the sitting-room of the former, discussing the crime. Brendon was gloomy, for in the unexpected death of Mrs. Jersey he saw the downfall of his hopes of proving his legitimacy. "There's no chance of my marrying Dorothy now," he said with a sigh. "I'll remain plain George Brendon to the end of my days, and a bachelor at that."
"It's awful!" gasped Leonard, who was white and haggard. "I never expected that my search for types would lead me into the neighborhood of a tragedy. Who could have killed her?"
"I can't say."
"I wonder if her death has anything to do with your affairs?"
Brendon looked up suddenly and with a stern, flushed face. "Train," he said sharply, "whatever you do, say nothing about what I told you last night."
"Yes. But what you told me might lead to the discovery of the assassin."
"I don't care if it does," said Brendon, angrily, and rising to his feet to emphasize his determination, "you are to keep my confidence."
"Oh, I shan't say anything. But do you think-"
"I think nothing. But I am sure that my affairs have nothing to do with this death. I came to see Mrs. Jersey, and this morning I should have had the truth out of her. But she is dead, and so all my projects go to the four winds. But I don't want them spoken of."
"You can depend upon me," said Leonard, dominated by the strong will of his friend. "But who could have-"
"I tell you I don't know," cried George, restlessly. "How you do harp on that subject."
"It is the subject of the hour," retorted Train. "And a most unpleasant one. Here I shall have to remain until that police-officer questions me."
"What story will you tell?"
"Any story but the one I told to you," retorted Brendon.
"Well," said Leonard, after a pause, "you can rely upon me. I shall not say anything to get you into trouble."
Brendon laughed, but not pleasantly. "My good fellow, I have done nothing wrong. Even if my tale were told I could not be accused of having to do anything with this murder."
"Oh, I didn't mean that for one moment," protested Train, uneasily.
"I know you didn't. Nevertheless, if this police inspector knew that I told you he might get it