“I wonder if the men wanted to get hold of that?” the constable suggested, a theory which Lane and the housemaid at once declared to be a sound one. “At any rate,” he added, “I think I’d better report the affair at the station. They’ll certainly want to make some inquiry about that eye.”
“For the present I’ll take possession of it,” said the doctor, replacing the ghastly-looking little object in the velvet-lined case, and closing it with a snap.
Then he returned to Mrs Parham, who a few minutes afterwards stirred slightly, while her eyelids quivered. It was a good sign, as he pointed out, and ten minutes later the poor lady opened her eyes and looked wonderingly around.
“Remain quiet, madam,” the doctor urged in a gentle voice. “You are not very well.”
“No,” she gasped faintly. “I—I don’t think I—”
Then her jaws became fixed. She could not conclude the sentence, and lapsed again into unconsciousness.
The constable had sent Lane round to the police station, and an inspector, entering the room, was told what had occurred, and was shown the human eye.
When he saw it he knit his brows. Like ourselves, he scented tragedy, especially as the poor girl Jane was lying dead.
The inspector was also shown the secret cavity beneath the carpet. He examined the windows of all the rooms on the ground floor, made a tour of the exterior of the house, and closely questioned all the servants.
The absence of the master of the house somewhat puzzled him, for the cook explained that Mr Parham returned from the country two days before and remained at home all the afternoon, packed another big travelling bag and left again about seven o’clock, telling his wife that he had to go to Birmingham.