Edith nodded, and led the way into the house. Gebb followed her through the sitting-room, which faced the terrace, and down a wide passage, on the wall of which hung many pictures, mostly ancestral portraits. At the end of this passage his guide unlocked a door, with a key selected from a bunch which dangled at her girdle, and threw it open, so that Gebb could pass into the room before her. He did so without hesitation. "This is the Yellow Boudoir," said Miss Wedderburn, following the detective; "it was in this room that the unfortunate Mr. Kirkstone was killed twenty years ago." "By Dean!" "Not by Dean," replied Miss Wedderburn, sharply. "From all I have heard. Dean is as innocent of that crime as you are." "Then who is guilty?" asked Gebb, artfully. "I am not a detective," said Edith, moving towards the window, "so I cannot give you an opinion. If you will permit me I will admit air and light so that you can see the room to its fullest advantage." When they entered, the boudoir had been in a kind of semi-darkness, as the shutters of the one window were closed; but now Miss Wedderburn threw these open, and the sunlight poured in. The dust raised by their feet danced in motes and specs in the sun's rays, and Gebb, dazzled by the strong glare, felt his eyes somewhat painful. However, they soon became habituated to the flood of glorious light, and he looked with deep interest at the original of the room which he had seen in Paradise Row. The apartment was larger than that which had been occupied by Miss Gilmar in Grangebury, but in every respect the furnishing and appointments were the same, as she had carried out her whim with the utmost care. The furniture, in place of being cane, was Chippendale; the window and door were differently placed; and the colouring of the whole room was more subdued and mellowed by Time. But the predominating hue was the same--the carpet was yellow, sprinkled with bunches of pale primrose flowers, the walls were draped with costly hangings of golden tint, and, from a domed ceiling of drawn silk depended an exact copy of the Arabian lamp studded with knobs of yellow glass. The furniture was cushioned and covered with yellow silk; the vases and metal-work were of brass; there was even a brazen tripod and chafing dish standing in the same position as its imitation had occupied in Paradise Row. The main difference in the room lay in the absence of books, knickknacks, flowers and magazines, which showed that it was not in daily use; otherwise all was the same. Gebb almost fancied that some genii of the lamp had transported the Grangebury palace to Norminster. "It is just the same," he said aloud, having taken in these details. "What is the same?" asked Miss Wedderburn, who was standing near the window. "This room. It is similar to that in which Miss Lig--I mean in which Miss Gilmar was murdered."