“Did I see any one come through the coach-yard that night? Yes, I did, miss; but I didn’t think nothing of it. It was about a quarter to eleven, and I was looking out of the spare room window when a gentleman came into the yard. It was too dark down in the yard at first to see who it was; but as he passed under the lamp by the gate leading into the garden, I saw his face.” “Who was it? Did you know him?” “Mr. Woodman, miss. Of course, I thought it was all right, seeing as it was him.” “And he went through into the garden?” “Yes, miss.” “You didn’t see him come out again?” “No, miss. No one else passed through the yard before Mr. Purvis here came and locked up.” “Now, Norah, I don’t want you to tell any one—or you, Purvis, or your wife—that Norah saw Mr. Woodman come in. It’s very important you shouldn’t mention it just yet.” Mrs. Purvis curtseyed, and Norah also agreed to say nothing. Purvis himself began by saying, “Certainly, miss, if you wish it,” and then he seemed to realise the implication contained in Joan’s request. His jaw dropped, and his mouth hung open. Then he said,— “Beg pardon, miss, but surely you don’t mean as Mr. Woodman had aught to do with this terrible affair?” “Never mind, Purvis, just now, what I mean. I’m not accusing anybody. But I knew some one came in by the yard, and I wanted to make sure who it was.” “Well, miss, you can make sure we won’t say nothing about it.” They kept their word, no doubt; and said nothing to any one else. But, when Joan had gone, they said a great deal among themselves. Joan’s questions had been enough to make them suspect that Woodman might be concerned in the murders. And, though nothing was said of Joan’s discovery, Purvis’s dark and unsupported suspicions of Woodman, and Mrs. Purvis’s hints of what she could say if she had a mind, were soon all round the servants’ hall. It was not surprising that these rumours soon came to Inspector Blaikie’s ears. He was not at first inclined to attach much importance to them; for they appeared to be no more than below-stairs gossip, and the fact of Woodman’s unpopularity with the servants, which had not escaped his observation, seemed sufficiently to account for the vague suspicions. Servants, he said to himself, were always ready to suspect any one they disliked; and in this case they were all strong partisans of Winter, and highly indignant at the share of their attentions which the police had bestowed on the men-servants at Liskeard House. All the same, the inspector traced the rumours to the chauffeur’s wife, and made up his mind to have a little talk with her.