The detective was taken aback and would have remonstrated, but Margery rose and approached him. "You have done your worst," she said, her eyes flashing. "Go, or I'll twist your neck."
Bawdsey shrugged his shoulders, and with a glance at George went out. After all, he had heard the story before and did not particularly care to hear it again. Besides, Bawdsey was a kindly man, and he felt sorry that he had proceeded to such extremities.
Miss Bull shuffled her pack of cards and laid them away in a box. "I shall play that game no more," she said. "I have been playing Patience all my life, but the end has come, and I am glad it has come. Hush, Margery," for the girl had burst into tears, "I will see that you are left well off and looked after, my dear."
"I don't want that. I want you," sobbed the girl. She slipped to the floor and laid her head on Miss Bull's knee like a faithful dog. Miss Bull patted her head and allowed her to remain in this position while she spoke to George. Margery sobbed for a time, and then remained quiet, listening to every word, and quite content to feel the gentle hand of the old maid smoothing her hair.
"I suppose you were astonished when Mr. Bawdsey told you?" said Miss Bull, looking with piercing eyes at Brendon.
"I was. I never thought that you--you----"
"That I would kill Mrs. Jersey," finished the woman, quietly. "Why not? She was a bad, wicked creature, and caused the death of your father. She boasted of it."
"Where? When?" asked the astonished young man.
"In this very room, in my presence. But to make you understand, I had better tell you all."
"One moment, Miss Bull. When you told the fortunes on that night, did you intend to kill Mrs. Jersey?"