Even more unquestionable seemed the solicitor's explanation when we reached Petersham, and heard what the Prescotts had to tell us. The local Inspector of Police and two subordinates were already upon the scene, but had done nothing much beyond walk up and down on a flower-bed outside the drawing-room window, and then re-enter the house. Sarah Prescott's elaboration of the telegram was briefly this:-- She had lighted a fire in a comfortable bedroom on the upper floor, and, upon asking the young man to come and see it, was surprised to learn he proposed sitting up through the night. "My husband," said Mrs. Prescott, "did not like the hearing of this, and was for watching the gentleman from the garden just to see that he meant no harm; but I over-persuaded him from such foolishness, as I thought it. The last thing before going to my bed, I brought the gent a scuttle of coals and some spirits and hot water. He was then reading a book he had fetched down from that book-case, and said that he should do well now, what with his pipe and the things I'd got for him. He gave me 'good-night' as nice as ever I heard a gentleman say it; then I heard him lock the door on the inside as I went away. This morning, at seven o'clock, I fetched him a cup of tea and some toast I'd made. The door was wide open, so was the window, and the bag that stood on the table last night had gone. The gent wasn't there either, of course." Long we talked after this statement, waiting for the detective from London to come. Continually some one or other of the men assembled let his voice rise with the interest of the conversation. Then Mrs. Prescott would murmur 'hush,' and point upwards to where the silent dead was lying.