The inspector thought for a moment. He was a tall, thin man, rather military in appearance, and with a wooden, expressionless face, which he found of great service in hiding his thoughts when examining those he suspected. He certainly did not suspect Miss Bull, and seemed inclined to make her his coadjutor. In proof of this he made her accompany him to the room wherein Mrs. Jersey lay dead. "It's not far from the front door," mused Inspector Quex. "Could any one have entered?" "No, I am sure of that," put in Miss Bull, emphatically. "Madame always locked the front door every night herself and kept the key. It could not be opened in the morning until she chose." "Who opened it this morning?" "I did. I knew that the key would be in Madame's pocket." "And it was?" "Yes. She must have locked the door as usual, and then have gone to put the light out in her sitting-room before going upstairs." "Was that before eleven?" "I can't say. I did not leave my room after ten. But Margery may have seen some one as she went up to her bedroom when she left me." "I'll question the girl," said Quex, and entered the sitting-room. It was of no great size, with one window, which looked out onto the square. This was locked, and, even if it had not been, no one could have climbed in, as Quex saw that the area was below. "And Madame chained the area gate every night with her own hands," explained Miss Bull, who was watching him. The inspector turned suddenly toward her. "It seems to me that the deceased was over-cautious. Was she afraid?" "I think she was," admitted Miss Bull. "She had a habit of looking over her shoulder, and, as I have stated, was particular as to bolts and bars. But she was a secretive woman, and never said anything to me about her fears, if she had any." "Were you great friends?" "No," replied the old maid, bluntly, "we were not. Madame behaved in an extremely rude manner, and had she lived I should have given her notice. I never liked her," added Miss Bull, with feminine spite. "You'll be all the more likely to speak the truth then," said Quex, cynically, and turned to examine the body. Madame was still in the black-silk dress which she wore on the previous night. Seated at the round center-table, she had evidently been struck from behind, and killed before she had time to cry out. Her arms were on the table, and her head had fallen forward. The furniture of the room was not in disorder, the red table-cloth was not even ruffled. The murder had been committed without haste or noise, as Quex pointed out to Miss Bull. "Whosoever murdered her must have been a friend," said he. "It doesn't seem a friendly act to kill a defenseless woman," said Miss Bull, looking coldly on the limp figure. "You don't quite understand. What I mean is that Mrs. Jersey knew the person who killed her."