“While I made my rounds, I did. But there wasn’t no one else in the works then.” “How do you know?” Gurney hesitated. In the last resort he didn’t know. But he had not seen anyone and did not believe anyone had been there. “But suppose some one had been hidden in the works,” French persisted. “He could have doctored your supper while you were on your rounds?” “If there ’ad been ’e might,” the man admitted. “But I didn’t see no one.” “What time do you have your meal?” Gurney, it appeared, had two meals during the night. Time hung heavy on his hands and the meals made a break. He had his dinner about six, started work at seven, and had his first meal about eleven. His second meal he had about three, and he was relieved at six. On the night in question he had his first meal at the usual time. Until then he had felt perfectly normal, but he had scarcely finished when he found himself growing overpoweringly sleepy, and the next thing he remembered was being wakened by the fireman at six the next morning. “It’s clear that your supper was doped,” French said. “Now think, did nothing in any way out of the common happen between six and eleven?” Gurney began a denial, then stopped. “There were one thing,” he said, slowly, “but I don’t believe as ’ow it could have ’ad anything to do with it. A little before ten there were a ring at the office door. I went to open, but there weren’t no one there. I didn’t think naught of it, because children do ring sometimes just by way o’ mischief. But there weren’t no children there so far as I could see.” “How far is this door that you opened from the boiler-house?” “At t’other end o’ the building. Two ’undred yards, maybe.” “Is that the only door?” “No, sir, there be a gate near the boilers for lorries, but people going to the office use the other.” “Is the large gate locked at night?” “Yes, sir.” “Who keeps the key?” “I do. There’s a key in the office that any o’ the gentlemen can get if they wants, but I carry one with me.” For some moments French sat thinking, then a fresh point struck him. “What did your supper consist of on that night?” “Tea an’ bread an’ butter and a slice o’ meat. I have a can o’ tea. I leave it on the boiler and it keeps ’ot.” “You mean that you don’t make your tea separately for each meal? You drink some out of the can at the first meal and finish what is left at the second?” “That’s right, sir.” “And the same with food?” “Yes, sir.” “Now on the night we’re talking about you had only one meal. You slept through the time of the second. What happened to the tea and food that was left over?” “We ’ad it for breakfast, my wife an’ I.” “That is what I wanted to get at. Now did either of you feel sleepy after breakfast?” A mixture of admiration and wonder showed in the old man’s eyes. “Why, no, we didn’t, an’ that’s a fact,” he said in puzzled tones. “An’ we should ’ave if so be as wot you think is true.”