"For some one whom I believe is concealed here."
"Some one concealed here! Is it me?--or my mistress?--or my old husband?"
"No."
"Then you won't find anybody else," she returned with an air of relief. "There's no soul in the place but us three, and that I'll vow: except Mrs. Grey's baby. And we had good characters, sir, I can tell you, both me and my husband, before Mrs. Grey engaged us. Would we harbour loose characters here, do you suppose?"
It was so much waste of words. Mr. Strange went without further parley into the intricacies of the Maze, calling to the policeman to follow him, and bidding the other--who was a local policeman also in plain clothes: both of them from Basham--remain near the gate and guard it against anybody's attempted egress. All this while the gate had been open. Ann Hopley locked it with trembling fingers, and then followed the men through the maze, shrieking out words of remonstrance at the top of her voice. Had there been ten felons concealed within, she made enough noise to warn them all.
"For goodness sake, woman, don't make that uproar!" cried the detective. "We are not going to murder you."
The terrified face of Mrs. Grey appeared at her chamber window. Old Hopley was gazing through the chink of the door of the tool-house, which he was about to clean out. The detective heeded nothing. He went straight to the house door and entered it.
"Wait here at the open door, and keep a sharp look round inside and out," were his orders to the policeman. "If I want you, I'll call."
But Ann Hopley darted before Mr. Strange to impede his progress--she was greatly agitated--and seized hold of his arm.
"Don't go in," she cried imploringly; "don't go in, for the love of heaven! My poor mistress is but just out of her confinement and the fever that followed it, and the fright will be enough to kill her. I declare to you that what I have said is true. There's nobody on these premises but those I've named: my mistress and us two servants, me and Hopley. It can't be one of us you want!"