"I can put two and two together, sir, and find they make four. The windows were fast; the doors were fast; there was no noise, no disturbance, no robbery: well, then, what deduction have we to fall back upon but that the villain, he or she, is an inmate of the house?"
Mr. Ravensworth's pulses beat a shade more quickly. "Do you suspect one of the servants?"
"Yes, I do."
"But the servants are faithful and respectable. They are not suspected indoors, I assure you."
"Perhaps not; they are out-of-doors, though. The whole neighbourhood is in commotion over it; and how Drewitt and the old lady can let these two London servants be at large is the talk of the place."
"Oh, it is the London servants you suspect, then, or one of them?"
"Look here," said Dr. Macferraty, dropping his voice and bending forward in his chair till his face almost touched Mr. Ravensworth's: "that the deed was done by an inmate of the house is certain. No one got in, or could have got in; it is nonsense to suggest it. The inmates consist of Lady Level and the servants only. If you take it from the servants, you must lay it upon her."
No answer.
"Well," went on the doctor, "it is impossible to suspect her. A delicate, refined girl, as she is, could not do so evil a thing. So we must needs look to the servants. Deborah would not do it; the stout old cook could not. She was in bed ill, besides, and slept through all the noise and confusion. The two other servants, Sanders and Timms, are strangers."
"I feel sure they no more did it than I," impulsively spoke Mr. Ravensworth.