“You are certain that you have not been asleep?”
“Yes, miss, quite certain. I closed my eyes sometimes, for my sight is weak, as you know, miss, and the light dazzled me, and made my eyes ache. I close my eyes generally when I sit down of an evening, for my sight doesn’t allow me to do needlework by candlelight, neither to read a newspaper; and I may have closed my eyes to-night, but I didn’t go to sleep, miss, oh dear no; I was too nervous and anxious for that, a great deal; besides, I am not a good sleeper at any time, and so I should have heard if a mouse had stirred in the room.”
“You didn’t hear me come into the room, did you, Mrs. Jepcott?” asked Launcelot Darrell.
“You, Mr. Darrell? Oh, dear, no; neither you nor anybody else, sir.”
“And you don’t think that I could have come into the room without your knowing it? You don’t think I could have come in while you were asleep?”
“But I wasn’t asleep, Mr. Darrell; and as for you or anybody comin’ in without my hearin’ ’em—why I heard every leaf that stirred outside the windows.”
“I fear that at least this part of your charge must drop to the ground, Mrs. Monckton,” Launcelot Darrell said, scornfully.
“Jepcott,” said Miss Lavinia de Crespigny, “go back and see if my uncle’s keys are safe.”
“Yes, do, Mrs. Jepcott,” exclaimed Launcelot Darrell; “and be sure you take notice whether they have been disturbed since your master died.”
The housekeeper left the room, and returned after about three minutes’ absence.