Mrs. Burt was of less stern stuff than her husband. Under French’s examination she was soon in tears and presently, disjointed and in fragments, her story came out.

It appeared that on the night of the tragedy she slept badly, owing to some small indisposition. Shortly after one she woke in considerable pain. She endured it for a time, then thinking that perhaps a hot drink would help her, she decided to go down to the kitchen and heat some milk. She got up quietly so as not to awake her husband, and left the bedroom. A quarter-moon dimly lit up the staircase and hall, so she carried no light. Just as she reached the head of the lower flight of stairs she heard the front door open. Startled, she drew back into the shadows, peering down at the same time into the hall. She was relieved to see that it was Colonel Domlio. He wore a hat and overcoat, and taking these off, he moved very quietly across the hall. Then she heard the click of the cloakroom door and slight sounds of movement as he approached the stairs. She slipped back into the passage which led to the servants’ quarters and in a few seconds the colonel’s bedroom door closed softly. This was a few minutes past two o’clock.

It was unusual for the colonel to be out at night and her woman’s curiosity led her to examine the hat and coat. They were soaking wet. Rain was falling, but only very slightly, and she realised, therefore, that he must have been out for a considerable time.

She thought no more of the incident, and having had her hot milk, returned to bed. But she had not slept, and soon Sergeant Daw appeared with his story of the missing men. This excited but did not perturb her, but when, a few minutes later, she heard Colonel Domlio assuring the sergeant that he had spent the whole evening in his study until going up to bed, she felt that something was wrong. But it was not until the next day, when she had learnt the full details of what had happened and had talked the matter over with her husband, that any possible sinister significance of her master’s action occurred to her. Burt, however, had pointed out that it was not their business and that their obvious policy was silence.

Mrs. Burt did not state that she had coupled the colonel’s nocturnal excursion with the tragedy, but French could sense that this was in both her and her husband’s minds. He wondered what motive they could have suspected and further questions showed that it was connected with the colonel’s intimacy with Mrs. Berlyn. According to Mrs. Burt this had been more serious than he had imagined. Mrs. Berlyn had spent several afternoons and an occasional evening with the colonel in his study and they were known to have had many excursions together on the moor. Since the tragedy, moreover, both the Burts noticed a change in their master. He had developed fits of abstraction and brooding and acted as if he had a weight on his mind.

Believing he had got all he could from the couple, French warned them to keep his visit to themselves and immensely comforted Mrs. Burt by assuring her that she had told him little that he had not known before. Then saying he wished to have another word with the two outside men, he left the house and walked round the outbuildings.

At the back of the main house was a large walled yard with an old-fashioned stone-built well in the center and farm buildings along one side. Wheel tracks leading into one of these indicated that it was the garage, and there, polishing up some spare parts, was Coombe.

French repeated his explanation about having forgotten to ask Colonel Domlio a question, then, after chatting for some moments, he returned to the night of the tragedy. Putting up a bluff, he asked at what hours the colonel had taken out and brought back the car.

Coombe was considerably taken aback by the question and said at once that he knew nothing about it.

“But,” said French, in apparent surprise, “you must have known that the car was out?”