“Was Miss Grison at Rotherhithe on that night?” asked Moon rather unnecessarily, seeing that Bakche accused her of committing the crime.
“Yes. I was on the watch, and I saw her coming.”
“Did Mother Slaig see her?”
“Not on that night, I fancy. Miss Grison always slipped into the house and out of it like a shadow,” said Bakche, after a moment’s reflection. “Sometimes Mrs. Slaig saw her and sometimes she did not. The house was always filled with people coming and going, and in that shabby dress”—Bakche referred somewhat superciliously to Miss Grison’s worn attire—“no one noticed her.”
“Everyone knew that I came to comfort my brother,” said the woman sharply.
“I am not denying that. But on that night you hovered round the place and saw Sorley come and go. He came at seven and went away by eight. Grison afterwards came down and got a drink, after which he retired to bed at ten o’clock as was stated at the inquest. He did not see you when he was down stairs, as you did not speak to him. But you followed him up and were with him in his room. No one but I saw you, as no one paid any attention to your brother, save I who was on the watch. After ten—I can’t state the exact time—you came out of the room and slipped away unnoticed. I followed you to the end of the slum, madam, and then returned to see if you had been urging Grison not to give me the peacock. I looked in and he was on his bed quite dead.”
“Why didn’t you give the alarm?” asked Alan impatiently.
“Ask yourself why I did not, Mr. Fuller,” said Bakche pitying this denseness. “Here was I, who wanted a valuable object possessed by Grison, disguised as a lascar. Had I given the alarm I should have been arrested for the crime and would have had a great difficulty in clearing myself.”
“Yes,” said Moon, “that is perfectly true. Well?”
“Well,” echoed Bakche, “what more do you wish me to say, sir. Grison was alive when this lady entered his room, and when she came out he was dead. I knew also that she carried away the peacock.”