"A fig for Lord Level! He does not know what he's saying," cried Dr. Macferraty. "There never was so monstrous a thing heard of as that a nobleman should be stabbed in his own bed and the assassin be let off scot-free! We need not look far for the culprit!" The last words, significantly spoken, jarred on Mr. Ravensworth's ears. "Have you a suspicion?" he asked. "I can put two and two together, sir, and find they make four. The windows were fast; the doors were fast; there was no noise, no disturbance, no robbery: well, then, what deduction have we to fall back upon but that the villain, he or she, is an inmate of the house?" Mr. Ravensworth's pulses beat a shade more quickly. "Do you suspect one of the servants?" "Yes, I do." "But the servants are faithful and respectable. They are not suspected indoors, I assure you." "Perhaps not; they are out-of-doors, though. The whole neighbourhood is in commotion over it; and how Drewitt and the old lady can let these two London servants be at large is the talk of the place." "Oh, it is the London servants you suspect, then, or one of them?" "Look here," said Dr. Macferraty, dropping his voice and bending forward in his chair till his face almost touched Mr. Ravensworth's: "that the deed was done by an inmate of the house is _certain_. No one got in, or could have got in; it is nonsense to suggest it. The inmates consist of Lady Level and the servants only. If you take it from the servants, you must lay it upon her." No answer. "Well," went on the doctor, "it is impossible to suspect _her_. A delicate, refined girl, as she is, could not do so evil a thing. So we must needs look to the servants. Deborah would not do it; the stout old cook could not. She was in bed ill, besides, and slept through all the noise and confusion. The two other servants, Sanders and Timms, are strangers." "I feel sure they no more did it than I," impulsively spoke Mr. Ravensworth. "Then you would fall back upon Lady Level?" "No. No," flashed Mr. Ravensworth. "The bare suggestion of the idea is an insult to her." Dr. Macferraty drew himself back in his chair. "There's a mystery in the affair, look at it which way you will, sir," he cried raspingly. "My lord says he did not recognise the assassin; but, if he did not, why should he forbid investigation? Put it as you do, that the two servants are innocent--why, then, I fairly own I am puzzled. Another thing puzzles me: the knife was found in Lady Level's chamber, yet she protests that she slept through it all--was only awakened by his lordship calling to her when it was over." "It may have been flung in." "No; it was carried in; for blood had dripped from it all along the floor." "Has the weapon been recognised?" "Not that I am aware of. No one owns to knowing it. Anyway, it is an affair that ought to be, and that must be, inquired into officially," concluded the doctor from the corridor, as he said good-night and went bustling out.