"No, I am sure she had not. At least, I never saw her with one. It was with such a pistol that Carr was shot. Good heavens Herrick, you do not mean to say that my mother killed the man." "Well; I have heard your account and I have heard the account of Corn. I do not know how to reconcile the two." "Corn--Corn the rector? What has he to do with it?" "A good deal. So have Joyce and Santiago and others. See here Steve, I have been searching for evidence in this case for a long time. To spare you I said nothing, but now that your step-mother has been brought into the matter it is but right you should know. Sit down. I will tell you a long and interesting story." Rather dazed, Stephen did as he was told. Then Dr. Jim related all that he had learned, bringing the narrative down to the end of his interview with the Revd. Pentland Corn. "Now what do you think?" he asked when the whole story was told. "I do not know what to think. My mother--I can't believe that she would--would." "It does seem strange," said Herrick, "but I tell you what. It is my opinion that this message Petronella will deliver, will tell the truth." CHAPTER XXII A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD The old Italian woman looked very ill. Her form was shrunken, her face thin and white, her eyes unnaturally large. Evidently the misty climate of the midlands chilled her to the bone. She had developed a hacking cough, and shook with ague when the east wind tormented Beorminster. Herrick was shocked at the change which had taken place in her appearance during these few short weeks. Apparently Petronella was not long for this world. But the near approach of death did not appal her; she was terribly lonely, now that her mistress was gone. "Signor Dottore," she croaked when Herrick made his appearance, "you have come to see me. That is good. But you will not cure me. No. I am dead Signor. Dio mio! what does it matter?" and she ended with a characteristic shrug, punctuated with a cough. "Indeed you do look ill Petronella," said Dr. Jim sympathetically. "I must ask the Squire to send over someone to look after you." "No," replied the old woman obstinately, "I am well here. And it will not be for long signor. Soon shall I be in my beautiful Italy." "At least, come over to 'The Pines' Petronella. You will be better attended to there, and it is warmer." But Petronella crossed herself with pious horror. "Go to that devil casa Signor! Not me. He had the evil eye, that man who died. Si Signor. I went one day with the padrona, and he swore at me. I had an accident the next day. Cospetto; a jettatura that Signor. But come in, come in, Signor Dottore. This is the best room," she led Herrick into what had once been the drawing-room. "Un bicchiére de Chianti Signor. Signor Stefan sent me some Chianti." "No thank you Petronella," replied Herrick sitting down on a dusty seat, "I want to have a chat with you. We will talk in your own language if you like."