But the newcomer, a typical, strong-armed, strong-minded individual, was not at all abashed. “What is it you do be wantin’, sor?” she asked, civilly enough, but a trifle sullenly. “Only a few answers to direct questions. Where were you when you first heard the alarm of the garage fire?” “I was in me kitchen, cleanin’ up after dinner.” “What did you do?” “I ran out the kitchen door and, seein’ flames, I ran toward the garage.” “Before you ran, you were at the rear of the house—I mean the south side, weren’t you?” “Yes, sor, I was.” “You passed along the south veranda?” “Not along it,” the cook looked at him wonderingly—“but by the end of it, like.” “And did you see any one on the veranda? Any one at all?” The woman thought hard. “Well, I sh’d have said no—first off—but now you speak of it, I must say I do have a remimbrance of seein’ a figger—but sort of vague like.” “You mean your memory of it is vague—you don’t mean a shadowy figure?” “No, sor. I mean I can’t mind it rightly, now, for I was thinkin’ intirely of the fire, and so as I was runnin’ past the end of the verandy all I can say is, I just glimpsed like, a person standin’ there.” “Standing?” “Well, he might have been moving—I dunno.” “Are you sure it was a man?” “I’m not. I’m thinkin’ it was, but yet, I couldn’t speak it for sure.” “Then you went on to the fire?” “Yes, sor.” “And thought no more about the person on the veranda?” “No, sor. And it niver wud have entered me head again, savin’ your speakin’ of it now. Why—was it the—the man that——” “Oh, probably not. But everything I can learn is of help in discovering the criminal and perhaps freeing your employers from suspicion.” “And I wish that might be! To put it on the good man, now! And worse, upon the ladies—angels, both of them!” “You are fond of the family, then?” “I am that! I’ve worked here for eight years, and never a cross word from the missus or the master. As for Miss Maida—she’s my darlint.” “They’re fortunate in having you here,” said Stone, kindly. “That’s all, now, cook, unless you can remember anything more of that person you saw.” “Nothin’ more, sor. If I do, I’ll tell you.” Thinking hard, Stone left her. It was the most unusual case he had ever attempted. If he looked no further for the murderer than the Wheeler family, he still had enough to do in deciding which one of the three was guilty. But he yearned for another suspect. Not a foolish phantom that went around piping, or a perhaps imaginary prowler stalking on the piazza, but a real suspect with a sound, plausible motive. Though, to be sure, the Wheelers had motive enough. To be condemned to an absurd restriction and then teased about it, was enough to make life gall and wormwood to a sensitive man like Wheeler.