"Here! look here!" interposed Mr. Negget. "I've known Mrs. Driver
thirty year a'most."

"What time did she come?" repeated the ex-constable, pitilessly.

His niece shook her head. "It might have been eleven, and again it might
have been earlier," she replied. "I was out when she came."

"Out!" almost shouted the other.

Mrs. Negget nodded.

"She was sitting in here when I came back."

Her uncle looked up and glanced at the door behind which a small
staircase led to the room above.

"What was to prevent Mrs. Driver going up there while you were away?" he
demanded.

"I shouldn't like to think that of Mrs. Driver," said his niece, shaking
her head; "but then in these days one never knows what might happen.
Never. I've given up thinking about it. However, when I came back, Mrs.
Driver was here, sitting in that very chair you are sitting in now."

Mr. Bodfish pursed up his lips and made another note. Then he took a
spill from the fireplace, and lighting a candle, went slowly and
carefully up the stairs. He found nothing on them but two caked rims of
mud, and being too busy to notice Mr. Negget's frantic signalling, called