The man who had waited at table presently appeared, rubbing his eyes, for he, too, had been asleep.
“Tell me who has been into this room while I was in the garden.”
“Nobody, your reverence; no one ever disturbs the master during his siesta.”
He then asked the servant where he had been, and was told in the ante-room. He next enquired whether any person had been in or out of the house, or if he had heard any movement or voice in the room, and also how many fellow-servants the man had. He was told that he had heard no noise or voices, and that he had two fellow-servants—the cook and a little boy. His reverence demanded that they should be brought in, that he might question them.
They came, and were cross-questioned as closely as possible, but they declared that they had not been in that part of the house all day long, and that nobody could possibly get into the house without their knowledge, unless it was through the garden. The priest had been walking all the time in view of the house, and he felt convinced that the murderer could not have passed in or out on that side without his knowledge.
“Listen to me; some person has been into that room since dinner, and your master is cruelly murdered.”
“Murdered!” cried the three domestics in tones of terror and amazement; “did your reverence say ‘murdered’?”
“He lies where I left him, but his throat is gashed from ear to ear—he is dead. My poor old friend!”
“Dead! the poor master dead, murdered in his own house.”
They wrung their hands, tore their hair, and wept aloud.