"Why, was he not dead?" gasped the Home Secretary, his heart fluttering violently.
"Dead? A young, healthy fellow like that! When the door flew open, Arthur Constant was sleeping the sleep of the just. It was a deep, a very deep sleep, of course, else the blows at his door would long since have awakened him. But all the while Mrs. Drabdump's fancy was picturing her lodger cold and stark, the poor young fellow was lying in bed in a nice warm sleep."
"You mean to say you found Arthur Constant alive?"
"As you were last night."
The Minister was silent, striving confusedly to take in the situation. Outside the crowd was cheering again. It was probably to pass the time.
"Then, when was he murdered?"
"Immediately afterwards."
"By whom?"
"Well, that is, if you will pardon me, not a very intelligent question. Science and common-sense are in accord for once. Try the method of exhaustion. It must have been either by Mrs. Drabdump or myself."
"You mean to say that Mrs. Drabdump—!"