"I am thinking, madame," went on Cecily, "of the night of Mr. Beecher Monmouth's death."
She paused again, but her mistress made no remark, and Cecily went on:
"On that night, madame, when I had folded away your things, I took a skirt into the housekeeper's room to brush. While I brushed it I talked with Mr. Duckett, the butler, who was also there. There was no ring at the front-door bell, madame—and yet when I returned to your bedroom there was a light there."
"You left it on before you went down, Cecily!"
"No, madame, I turned it off. I was very surprised to see the light, as I knew you were out, madame, and I—I——"
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned and scrutinised the maid's sallow face and bead-like eyes.
"You looked through the keyhole!" she said.
"Yes, madame."
"And saw my husband, who had come back unexpectedly."
"No, madame; I saw Mr. Treves. Mr. Beecher Monmouth had not come home then; and Mr. Treves, madame, was standing near your dressing-table with a small box in his hands."