"And why?" asked Gebb, sharply.
This question Mrs. Grix did not choose to hear; but mumbling and shaking her old head, hobbled along the passages in the direction of the Yellow Room. She ushered Gebb into this with a chuckle, and threw open the shutters to let the sunlight shine on the faded and time-worn decorations of the room.
"I s'pose you'll want to see this first," said Mrs. Grix; "most folks likes to see a room as a murder's been done in. There's a stain of blood over in that corner--master's blood, which Miss Gilmar would never let be wiped out I dessay master comes and looks at it, and wishes he had his body again. He was an awful bad one--and mean!" Mrs. Grix lifted up a pair of dirty and trembling hands. "They was both of 'em skinflints," said she, with a nod.
"Whom are you speaking of, Mrs. Grix?"
"Of Miss Gilmar and Mr. Kirkstone, sir."
"Did you know them?"
"Did I know them?" echoed the hag, with scorn. "Of course I knowed them; and a bad lot the pair of 'em was. They give Miss Laurer a fine time, I can tell you. I wonder she didn't go off with Mr. Dean, I do."
"Were you here when the murder took place?" asked Gebb.
"Lor' bless yer 'eart, I sawr the 'ole of it," croaked Mrs. Grix. "Master was a-lying over there with a knife in his 'eart, and Miss Gilmar, she was 'ollering for the police."
"Did Dean kill Kirkstone?"