“He did that, sor, an’ a sore stew was he in to all seemin’--white as paper, and much need, too, the murtherin’ scutt! An’ him always so much the jintleman an’ all. Well, I saw no more av him that day. Next day he laves another letther wid the dirthy’ plates there mid-betwixt the houses, an’ shouts for ut to be posted. ’Twas for the poor young jintleman’s mother, sure, as was the other wan. An’ the day afther there was another letther, an’ wan for the undhertaker, too, for he tells me it’s all over, an’ he’s dead. An’ they buried him next day followin’.” [Illustration: “‘HE LAVES ANOTHER LETTHER WID THE DIRTHY PLATES . . . AN’ SHOUTS FOR UT TO BE POSTED.’”] “So that from the time you went for the pail and saw Mr. Rewse writing, till after the funeral, you were never at the cottage at all?” “Nivir, sor; an’ can ye blame me? Wid children an’ Terence himself sick wid bronchitis in this house?” “Of course, of course, you did quite right--indeed you only obeyed orders. But now think; do you remember on any one of those three days hearing a shot, or any other unusual noise in the cottage?” “Nivir at all, sor. ’Tis that I’ve been thryin’ to bring to mind these four days. Such may have been, but not that I heard.” “After you went for the pail, and before Mr. Main returned to the house, did Mr. Rewse leave the cottage at all, or might he have done so?” “He did not lave at all, to my knowledge. Sure he _might_ have gone an’ he might have come back widout my knowin’. But see him I did not.” “Thank you, Mrs. Hurley. I think we’ll go across to the cottage now. If any people come, will you send them after us? I suppose a policeman is there?” “He is, sor. An’ the serjint is not far away. They’ve been in chyarge since Mr. Bowyer wint away last--but shlapin’ here.” Hewitt and Mr. Bowyer walked towards the cottage. “Did you notice,” said Mr. Bowyer, “that the woman saw Rewse _writing letters?_ Now what were those letters, and where are they? He has no correspondents that I know of but his mother and sister, and they heard nothing from him. Is this something else?--some other plot? There is something very deep here.” “Yes,” Hewitt replied thoughtfully, “I think our inquiries may take us deeper than we have expected; and in the matter of those letters--yes, I think they may lie near the kernel of the mystery.” Here they arrived at the cottage--an uncommonly substantial structure for the district. It was square, of plain, solid brick, with a slated roof. On the patch of ground behind it there were still signs of the fires wherein Main had burnt Rewse’s clothes and other belongings. And sitting on the window-sill in front was a big member of the R.I.C., soldierly and broad, who rose as they came, and saluted Mr. Bowyer. “Good-day, constable,” Mr. Bowyer said. “I hope nothing has been disturbed?” “Not a shtick, sor. Nobody’s as much as gone in.” “Have any of the windows been opened or shut?” Hewitt asked.