"It was ajar, as Dr. Wentworth left it," explained the valet, cautiously. "Dr. Jerce closed it in the day, and Dr. Wentworth opened it, when he left, about eight o'clock, last night."
"Did you hear any noise in the room during the night?"
"Now, how could I, Miss?" complained the little man, in an injured tone, "seeing that my bedroom is at the back of the house, and that I sleep like a top, through being worn out with master's tempers. I left at eleven last night, and came again at seven; but what happened between them hours, I know no more than you do."
"I know what happened," said Clarice, with a shudder, and looking at the still figure on the bed. "Murder happened--as you see."
"But why should it happen, Miss? Master had his tempers, but he would not have harmed a fly."
"I can't tell you the reason, Chalks; but, doubtless, Osip intended to murder Mr. Horran for some wicked purpose of his own."
"Osip!" echoed the valet, starting. "Why, that is the man who was going to stop at Mrs. Dumps' Savoy Hotel a few days ago, and didn't."
"What day was that?" asked Clarice, quickly.
Chalks searched his memory, and mentioned the very evening, when Dr. Jerce had been searched on the terrace. There was no longer any doubt in Clarice's mind but what Horran had been killed by Osip; but why so inoffensive a man should be thus cruelly put out of the way she could not conjecture. However, theorising would not help, so she moved away from the bed with a sigh, and tried to recover her composure.
"You had better go at once for the police, Chalks," she said, rapidly. "Meanwhile, I'll rouse up my brother and the servants."