Tunks removed his dingy cap to scratch his untidy locks. "It would be about six, just before I had my tea. He wanted to reduce my wages, too, and I said I'd give him notice if he did. But I suppose," growled Tunks, with his eyes on the remains, "it's notice in any case now."
"Never you mind bothering about yourself," cried Mrs. Coppersley sharply. "Go to Marshely, and tell the policeman to come here. Bella," she moved to the door, "let us leave the room and lock the door. Nothing must be touched until the truth is known."
"Will the truth ever be known?" asked the girl drearily, as she went into the hall, and watched her aunt lock the door of the death-room.
"Of course," retorted the elder woman, "one person cannot murder another person without being seen."
"I don't know so much about that, Aunt Rosamund. You and Tunks were away, and I was locked in my room, so anyone could enter, and——" she glanced towards the study door and shuddered.
"Did you see anyone?" asked Mrs. Coppersley quickly.
Bella started. "No," she replied, with unnecessary loudness; "how could I see anyone when I was drugged?"
"Drugged, miss?" cried Tunks, pricking up his ears.
Mrs. Coppersley turned on the handy-man, and stamped. "How dare you linger here?" she cried. "You should be half way to the village by this time. Miss Bella was having wakeful nights, and her father gave her a sleeping draught. Off with you," and she drove Tunks out of the front door.
"Why did you tell such a lie?" asked Bella when the man was hurrying down the path, eager, like all his tribe, to carry bad news.