"H'm!" commented Cleek. "So that's 'barking up the wrong tree' for a second time. Still, of course, the necklace couldn't have vanished of its own accord. Hum-m-m! Just so! Another question, your ladyship: You spoke of running down to the foot of the stairs with the lint for Miss Eastman and running back in a panic when you remembered the necklace. How, then, did you get the lint to Miss Eastman, after all?" "I sent it to her with apologies for not being able to do the bandaging for her." "Sent it to her, your ladyship? By whom?" "Jennifer--one of the servants." "Oho!" said Cleek, in two different tones. "So then you _did_ unlock the door of your boudoir for a second time, and somebody other than Sir Mawson and your stepson _did_ see the inside of the room, eh?" "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."