“There was no accident,” French replied, sternly. “There was murder. Who committed it, I don’t know at present. Where the other body is, if there is another body, I don’t yet know. But I have no doubt about one of the bodies. It was put into the crate on that night.” Gurney moistened his dry lips. “But——” he began, and his voice died away into silence. “That’s it,” French went on, impressively. “Now, Gurney, I’m not accusing you of anything. But you know something. You needn’t attempt to deny it, because it has been plain to me from the first moment I spoke to you. Come now. Something out of the common took place that night. What was it?” Gurney did not deny the charge. Instead he sat motionless, with scared, unhappy eyes. French remained silent also; then he said, quietly: “What was it? Were you away from your post that night?” “No, sir, not that. I was there all the time,” the other answered, earnestly. Again he paused, then with a sudden gesture he went on: “I didn’t know nothing about what you ’ave been saying, but I see now I must tell you everything, even if I gets the sack over it.” “You’ll not get the sack if I can help it,” French said, kindly, “but go on and tell me, all the same.” “Well, sir, I did that night wot I never did before nor since. I slept the ’ole night through. I sat down to eat my supper in the boiler-’ouse like I always does, an’ I didn’t remember nothing more till Peter Small ’e was standing there shaking me. ‘Wake up,’ ’e says; ‘you’re a nice sort of a night watchman, you are.’ ‘Lord,’ I says. ‘I never did nothing like that before,’ an’ I asks him not to say nothing about it. An’ ’e didn’t say nothing, nor I didn’t, neither. But now I suppose it’ll come out an’ I’ll get wot for about it.” “Don’t you worry about that,” French said, heartily. “I’ll see you through. I’ll undertake to get Mr. Fogden to overlook this little irregularity on one condition. You must tell me everything that took place that night without exception. Go ahead now and let’s have the whole of it.” The old man gazed at him in distress. “But there weren’t naught else,” he protested. “I went to sleep, an’ that’s all. If there were anything else took place, w’y I didn’t see it.” “That’s all right. Now just answer my questions. Go back to when you left your house. What time was that?” “The usual time, about twenty minutes to seven.” “You brought your supper with you?” “Yes, sir.” “Who prepared it?” “My wife.” “Did you meet anyone on your way to the works?” “Well, I couldn’t rightly say. No one that I remember.” “No one could have got hold of your supper, anyway?” The man started. “You think it might ’ave been tampered with?” he queried. He thought for some moments, then shook his head. “No, sir, I’m afraid not. I don’t never let my basket out o’ my ’and till I gets to the boiler-’ouse.” “Very well. Now when you got to the boiler-house?” “I put it where I always do, beside one o’ the boilers.” “And you left it there?”