"Then I refuse to give any other," rejoined Edith, with a frown.
"Quite so," replied Gebb, rising. "Well, there is nothing for it but for me to take my leave--for the present," he added significantly.
"This sudden cessation of Gebb's questions alarmed Edith more than the questions themselves had done, and she looked uneasy. Once or twice she appeared about to speak, but closed her lips again without a word, and conducted Gebb silently out of the house. The detective was rather annoyed by this self-control, as the sole reason of his manœuvre was to make Miss Wedderburn talk. Nine women out of ten would have done so, and have defended themselves with many words; but this girl was evidently the tenth, and knew the value of silence. However, Gebb was too experienced to show his annoyance, and, mentally resolving to question this Sphinx on a future occasion, when she was not so much on her guard, he took his leave with a last warning.
"You ought to have that mad gardener locked up," he said, looking up to Miss Wedderburn as she stood on the terrace, "else there will be another murder in the Yellow Boudoir."
"Oh, Martin is quite harmless," replied Edith, calmly. "I told you so before."
"So harmless, that had he lived in Grangebury I should have suspected him of killing your cousin," responded Gebb, dryly, and forthwith took his departure, considerably puzzled, as well he might be, by the attitude of the young lady. So far she had baffled him completely.
As he walked down the neglected avenue he heard the harsh, cracked voice of Mad Martin piping a tuneless ditty, and shortly afterwards met with the man himself face to face. With his lean, bent form, picturesque rags, and venerable white beard, the man looked like Lear, insane and wretched. When he saw Gebb, the creature stopped singing, and broke into a cackling laugh, which had little mirth in it Gebb--usually self-controlled and careless of impressions--shuddered at that merriment of hell.
"Are you in love with her too?" he asked the detective.
"No," replied Gebb, humouring the man. "Why do you think so?"
"John Alder came here and loved her," said Martin, reflectively. "Arthur Ferris came and loved her. I thought you might be a third. But you won't win her heart--oh no! Young Arthur has done that. Tall, straight, dark, handsome Arthur, with the mark of Satan on his cheek."