Neither she nor Jane Cross had gone out at all that day. Monday was rather a busy day with them, for they generally did a bit of washing. After tea, which they took between four and five o'clock, they went up to their bedroom, it being livelier there than in the kitchen, the window looking down the side road. Matilda sat down to write a letter to her brother, who lived at a distance; Jane Cross sat at the window doing a job of sewing. They sat there all the evening, writing, working, and sometimes talking. At dusk, Jane remarked that it was getting blind man's holiday, and that she should go on downstairs and lay the supper. Upon that, Matilda finished her letter quickly, folded and directed it, and followed her down. Jane had not yet laid the cloth, but was then taking it out of the drawer. "You go and fetch the beer, Matilda," she said: and Matilda was glad to do so. "You can't go that way: I have locked the gate," Jane called out, seeing Matilda turning towards the back; accordingly she went out at the front door, leaving it on the latch. Such was her account; and I have given it almost verbatim. "On the latch," repeated the policeman, taking up the words. "Does that mean that you left it open?" "I drew it quite to, so that it looked as if it were shut; it was a heavy door, and would keep so," was Matilda's answer. "I did it, not to give Jane the trouble to open it to me. When I got back I found it shut and could not get in." The policeman mused. "You say it was Jane Cross who locked the back door in the wall?" "Yes," said Matilda. "She had locked it before I got downstairs. We liked to lock that door early, because it could be opened from the outside--while the front door could not be." "And she had not put these things on the table when you went out for the beer?"--pointing to the dishes. "No: she was only then putting the cloth. As I turned round from taking the beer-jug from its hook, the fling she gave the cloth caused the air to whiffle in my face like a wind. She had not begun to reach out the dishes." "How long were you away?" "I don't know exactly," she answered, with a moan. "Rather longer than usual, because I took my letter to the post before going to the Swan." "It was about ten minutes," I interposed. "I was at the window next door, and saw Matilda go out and come back." "Ten minutes!" repeated the policeman. "Quite long enough for some ruffian to come in and fling her over the stairs." "But who would do it?" asked Matilda, looking up at him with her poor pale face. "Ah, that's the question; that's what we must find out," said Knapp. "Was the kitchen just as it was when you left it?" "Yes--except that she had put the bread and cheese on the table. And the glasses, and knives," added the girl, looking round at the said table, which remained as we had found it, "but not the plates."