Mrs. Presk looked up suddenly, rather alarmed. "No sir, it wasn't," said she in startled tones, "It was--as you might say--ajar."
"Aha!" said Gebb, triumphantly, "then you may depend upon it, Mrs. Presk, that when you came home the assassin was in the house."
"In the house!" gasped Mrs. Presk. "Lor, sir! it ain't possible."
"Yes! he did not know where to find the front-door key; and discovering that the back door was locked, he just hid himself in the kitchen until you and the servant went upstairs to look on his handiwork. Then he slipped out to escape the consequences."
Mrs. Presk's knees gave way, and she was fain to sit down--as far away from the dead body as possible however. "It's past believing," she moaned, rocking herself to and fro. "Lord! what an escape 'Tilda and me's had from being strangulated. Ugh!" she shuddered, "look at that poor soul, sir, ain't it enough to freeze your blood."
"Did it freeze yours, that you ran out of the room?" asked Gebb, hoping to take her unawares.
"No! a'wasn't that!" whispered Mrs. Presk, turning pale, "but I was afeard!"
"Of what?" asked the detective, rather puzzled.
"Of you, sir," was the unexpected reply.
"Indeed! then you know something about the matter?"