"Well?"
"A man just left by the back door and ran away. Either you knew he was here or else you are not taking proper care of these premises."
"Why, sir—" began the woman, but then her eyes dropped before the steady gaze of the detective. "I—that is—"
"Who was that man? Come, answer me truthfully, or I shall report this, and let me say, my word will carry great weight."
"Oh, well, if you must know, it was Mr. Ostrello, Mrs. Langmore's son. He wanted—er—some books he left here some time ago. I don't know why he left in such a hurry. Perhaps because he didn't wish to meet you."
"Then you admit you lied to me, do you?"
At this the woman broke down completely and began to cry. "I didn't want to do any wrong, sir. He said he wanted to get the books and he didn't want every Tom, Dick and Harry to know he was here—those are his own words. He's a very nice gentleman, and so—so—I said what I did."
"You let him go through the house?"
"He had that right. It was his mother's home, wasn't it?"
"Yet you didn't want me to go through."