quite clear."

To this remark neither Armstrong nor his wife answered a syllable, but
continued to gaze at the corpse, the bundles, and the broken locks, in
bewildered terror and astonishment. Presently some one asked if any body
had seen Mrs. Strugnell?

The question roused Armstrong, and he said, "She is not come home: her
door is locked."

"How do you know that?" cried the constable, turning sharply round, and
looking keenly in his face. "How do you know that?"

"Because--because," stammered Armstrong, "because she always locks it
when she goes out."

"Which is her room?"

"The next to this."

They hastened out, and found the next door was fast.

"Are you there, Mrs. Strugnell?" shouted Johnson.

There was no reply.

"She is never home till half-past ten o'clock on Sunday evenings,"
remarked Armstrong in a calmer voice.

"The key is in the lock on the inside," cried a young man who had been