"What letter?" asked the sergeant, alertly, and pricking up his ears. "That as the post delivered when he come. He put it on the table in the hall when talking to me. I shoved him out, and the policeman came. Afterwards, that imp, Neddy Mellin. When things was quieter, I looked for the letter. Never a sign of it, Mr. Purse, though I hunted careful." "Who took it?" "Ask me another," said Mrs. Vence, cunningly. "All I can say is as the door was open from the time the post came to the time I chased that imp out, me being too worried to shut it." "Did the boy take it?" asked the sergeant, rather foolishly. "Lawks! and why should he? It wasn't nothing to do with him. I did ask him, and he said as he never saw no letter on the table." "Did Mr. Lemby----" "He was in the study with the policeman, and with me and the corpse," said Mrs. Vence, truculently. "I don't go for to tell lies, do I? But the door was open all the time, and the fog was pouring in like steam. If you ask me," added the old woman, slowly, "I do say as the murderer came back for that letter." Purse jumped. "Why do you say that?" "'Cause I don't see as anyone else could have taken it. 'Course it ain't no business o' mine, but the murderer might have slipped round the corner on the bicycle and waited his chance to steal." "He would have acted like a fool had he done that," said Purse, incredulously. "Well, well, it's only an idea, as you might say." "Have you any reason to----" "No, I ain't got reasons. But the letter's gone, and as no one we know took it, someone as we don't know did. And that's sense. Well, I'm going to make myself some tea, and trim up my popping-out bonnet, so as to look smart for the sitting on the corpse to-morrow. This me?" Mrs. Vance glared at the crushed newspaper. "I'll have the law on him as did it." "Oh, go away and hold your tongue," said Purse, impatiently. "I was engaged to hold my tongue," said Mrs. Vence, with great dignity, and tottered out of the room along the passage and into the kitchen. Her repetition of the phrase dwelt in the sergeant's memory as he walked to the inn where Mr. Lemby was staying pending the inquest. Purse entered the little dark and damp sitting-room, where the buccaneer bulked largely in the twilight atmosphere. It was a gloomy, grey day, by no means cheerful, and the sergeant was glad to warm his hands at the fire which Lemby's desire for comfort had provided. He also suggested a lamp. "What the dickens should I do with a lamp at twelve o'clock," asked Lemby, bluffly. "It's darkish here I don't deny. But if you think that I'm afraid to show my blamed face let's go outside." "I never suggested such a thing." "You hint at it because you think I have something to do with this confounded murder, sergeant," roared the big man, garnishing his speech with oaths after his usual fashion.