“Your pardon, Mr. Cleek, but you are wrong in both surmises. Jennifer was the servant who was working in the lower hall at the time—the one who says he saw Henry leave the house at ten minutes past seven. The instant I reached the foot of the stairs and thought of the necklace, I called Jennifer to me, gave him the lint with orders to take it at once to Miss Eastman’s maid with the message mentioned, and then turned round and ran back to my boudoir immediately.”
“H’m! I see. I suppose, your ladyship, it isn’t possible that this man Jennifer might, in going to carry that message——But no! I recollect: the door of your boudoir was locked. So even if he had managed to outstrip you by going up another staircase——”
“Oh, I see what you mean!” she declared, as they reached the edge of the lawn and set out across it. “But, Mr. Cleek, such a thing would not bear even hinting at, so far as Jennifer is concerned. He is the soul of honesty, for one thing; and, for another, he couldn’t have outstripped me, as you put it, had I returned at a snail’s pace. He is very old, and near-sighted. There! look! That is he, over there, sweeping the leaves off the terrace. You can see for yourself how impossible it would be for him to run upstairs.”
Cleek did see. Looking in the direction indicated, he saw an elderly man employed as stated, whose back was bowed, and whose limping gait betokened an injury which had left him hopelessly lame.
“His leg had to be amputated as the result of being run over by an omnibus in the streets of London,” explained her ladyship, “and, in consequence, he wears a wooden one. He has been in the employ of the family for more than forty years. Originally he was a gardener, and, after his accident, Sir Mawson was for pensioning him off so that he could end his days in quiet and comfort. But he quite broke down at the thought of leaving the old place, and as he wouldn’t listen to such a thing as being paid for doing nothing, we humoured his whim and let him stay on as a sort of handy man. I am sorry to say that Bevis, little rogue, takes advantage of his inability to run, and plays no end of pranks upon him. But he adores the boy, and never complains.”
Cleek, who had been studying the man fixedly with his narrowed eyes—and remembering what had been said of Diamond Nick’s skill at impersonation, the while they were crossing the lawn—here twitched his head, as if casting off a thought which annoyed him, and turned a bland look upon Lady Leake.
“One last question, your ladyship,” he said. “I think you said that Jennifer was cleaning the hall at the time your stepson left the house; and, as, presumably, you wouldn’t overwork a crippled old chap like that, how happened it that he was still at his labours at ten minutes past seven o’clock in the evening? That’s rather late to be cleaning up a hall, isn’t it?”
“Yes, much too late,” she acknowledged. “But it couldn’t be helped in the present instance. The gasfitters didn’t finish their work as early as we had hoped, and as he couldn’t begin until they had finished, he was delayed in starting.”
“The gasfitters, eh? Oho! So you had those chaps in the house yesterday, did you?”
“Yes. There had been an unpleasant leakage of gas in both the music room and the main hall, for two or three days, and as the men had to take down the fixtures to get to the seat of the trouble, Jennifer improved the opportunity to give the chandelier and the brackets a thorough cleaning, since he couldn’t of course start to clear up the mess the workmen made until after they had finished and gone. But—Mr. Cleek! They couldn’t have had anything to do with the affair, for they left the house at least ten minutes before the Ladder of Light came into it. So, naturally——This is the door of the music room, gentlemen. Come in, please.”