"Meanin' Mr. Hay," said Matilda, artlessly. "Well, sir, they did, one at a time and then together. Missis would go and miss would foller, an' miss an' missus together would take their joy of the Towers an' shops and Madame Tusord's and sich like, Mr. Hay allays lookin' after 'em." "Did they ever visit Mr. Hay in July?" "No, they didn't," snapped Matilda, with a change of tone which did not escape Hurd; "and I don't know, sir, why you arsk them questions." "My good woman, I ask no questions. If I do, you need not reply. Let us change the subject. My sister tells me you make good curries in this hotel." "Hokar do, me bein' but a plain cook." "Oh! He's an Indian?" "Yes, he is, sir. A pore Indian castaway as missus took up with when he come here drenched with rain and weary. Ah, missus was allays good and kind and Christian-like." Privately Hurd thought this description did not apply very well to the lady in question, but he was careful not to arouse Matilda's suspicions again by contradicting her. He pretended to joke. "I wonder you don't marry this Indian, and keep him here always to make the curries I have heard of." "Me marry a black!" cried Matilda, tossing her rough head. "Well, sir, I never," her breath failed her, "an' him goin' about the country." "What do you mean by that?" "What I say," said Miss Junk; "he'll stop here, Christian-like, for days, and then go orf to sell things as a 'awker. My par was a 'awker, sir, but a white, white man of the finest." Hurd was about to ask another question when a husky voice was heard singing somewhat out of tune. "What's that?" asked Hurd, irritably. "Lor', sir, wot nervses you 'ave. 'Tis only Cap'n Jessop makin' hisself 'appy-like." "Captain Jessop," Hurd laughed. He had run down his man at last. CHAPTER XIX CAPTAIN JESSOP Apparently Matilda Junk was quite ignorant of anything being wrong about her ladies, although she did shirk the question regarding their possible visit to London in July. However, Hurd had learned that Grexon Hay not only was an old friend, but had been engaged to Maud for many months. This information made him the more certain that Hay had robbed Beecot of the opal brooch at the time of the accident, and that it had passed from Mr. Hay's hands into those of the assassin. "I wonder if Mrs. Krill murdered her husband in that cruel way," thought the detective, sitting over his tea; "but what could have been her object? She could have gone up on learning from Hay that Aaron Norman was her husband--as I believe she did--and could then have made him give her the money, by threatening him with the murder of Lady Rachel. I daresay Aaron Norman in his Krill days did strangle that lady to get the opal brooch and his wife could have used what she knew to govern him. There was no need of murder. Hum! I'll see about getting the truth out of Hay. Aurora," he cried. "Oh, there you are," he added, as she entered the room. "I want you to go back to town this night."