"There's no blood," said another man wisely. "If the eye had been torn out----"
"It was a glass eye," breathed a stout, dark woman with a heavy face. "Anne told me as much when we had tea together. She didn't like it to be known, poor soul, being proud like, and took great pains to get the best eye she could. But it's gone, sure enough." She peered into the dead face and then at me. "Perhaps this gentleman will tell us why he took it."
By this time, since apparently Anne Caldershaw had not been murdered and the eye was merely glass, the current of popular feeling was running more in my favour. I might be a thief, with the eye in my pocket, but I was not a murderer, so the villagers gave me time for explanation.
"I quite understand that things look black against me," I said hastily, "but I know nothing about the matter. I arrived in front of this shop in my motor car and stopped to get petrol. After I filled up and left the money--you will find it on the counter, if you look--I heard a moan and stepped into this room to see what was wrong. While looking at the body, after lighting a match, someone locked me in and ran off with my motor car."
The villagers looked at one another, and apparently thought that my explanation was a lame one. But Giles, who had treated me so roughly, grudgingly admitted that he had seen the motor car.
"I came round the corner to get a pound of bacon for supper," said Giles reflectively, "and I saw the engine"--so he phrased it--"before the door. A lady was stepping in----"
"A lady!" I interrupted. "Are you certain?"
"Yes--sir," he said, giving me the polite address doubtfully. "I saw her plain enough in the light of them bright lamps. She had a long white sort of gown on, and a cap with a veil flying behind on her head. I just caught a glimpse of her, when she went off as hard as she could."
"In what direction?"
"Murchester way, if you want a good big town to go by," said Giles.