“Send for Mrs. Jepcott,” said Launcelot Darrell; “let us hear what she has to say about this very probable story of my stealing my great-uncle’s keys.”
Miss Lavinia de Crespigny rang the bell, which was answered by Mr. Parker, who, though usually slow to respond to any summons, was wonderfully prompt in his attendance this evening.
“Tell Mrs. Jepcott to come here,” said Miss Lavinia; “I want to speak to her.”
The butler departed upon this errand, and again there was a silent pause, which seemed a very long one, but which only extended over five minutes. At the end of that time Mrs. Jepcott appeared. She was a respectable-looking woman, prim, and rather grim in appearance. She had been in the dead man’s service for five-and-thirty years, and was about fifteen years older than the Misses de Crespigny, whom she always spoke of as “the young ladies.”
“Jepcott,” said Miss Sarah, “I want to know whether anybody whatever, except yourself, has entered Mr. de Crespigny’s room since you have been placed in charge of it?”
“Oh, dear no, miss,” answered the housekeeper, promptly, “certainly not.”
“Are you sure of that, Jepcott?”
“Quite sure, miss; as sure as I am that I am standing here this moment.”
“You speak very confidently, Jepcott, but this is really a most serious business. I am told that you have been asleep.”
“Asleep, Miss de Crespigny! Oh, dear, who could say anything of the kind? Who could be so wicked as to tell such a story?”