"Nice sort of caretaker you are," he said in a contemptuous voice. "You're paid to look after this house, aren't you? Where were you all last night I should like to know? You can see what has happened. Somebody has got in through the back, either to commit suicide, or with a companion who brought him here to murder him. That's got to be found out before the Coroner." Miles pulled himself together. He was by no means a fool when sober, and in sight of this ghastly object the fumes of last night's intoxication had absolutely cleared. "I can show an alibi right enough," he said doggedly. The younger and readier-witted of the two constables looked up and spoke sharply. "So far, my friend, we have not accused you, but you may as well tell us the details of your alibi." Miles's explanation, delivered in the somewhat halting way of his class, bore the ring of truth. An old acquaintance of his, whose name and address he gave, had looked him up the day before and asked him to spend a day with him at Shepperton, where the said acquaintance kept a small shop. Miles had succumbed to the temptation. "It drives a man fair off his blooming chump to be tied by the leg in a hole like this," he interpolated in the midst of his narrative, "waiting for would-be tenants who never call. I daresay you chaps do your eight or ten hours a day, but you're out in the open air, not looking on four walls. You see a bit of life, I don't." Constable Brown cut across his narrative swiftly. "Never mind your grievances, Miles. If you could get a better job, I guess you would take it. Where did you spend the night?" "At the same old show, down at Shepperton," replied the unabashed Miles. "My old pal's a sport, I can tell you. When he shut up his shop, he plied me with some of the best. I wasn't backward, I admit. I missed the last train back, and slept on the sofa in the back room. When I woke, I remembered things a bit, and got an early train home. Here I am. My old pal Jack will tell you I'm speaking gospel truth." Neither of the two men listening to him had any doubt that his narrative was a true one. He was a poor, weak, bibulous creature, but by no stretch of the imagination could he be an accessory to the gruesome happenings at Number 10. Even had he been at his post, as he should have been on this particular night, he would have been sunk in a stertorous sleep, and have heard nothing. But to make everything sure, Constable Brown pulled him along and forced him to look at the dead man. "You have never seen him before, Miles? I mean he has not called to look over the house or anything?" "No." Miles, looking shudderingly at the ghastly sight, was ready to swear he had never seen him before. He turned his frightened gaze away: "It will be all over the town to-night," he said ruefully. "We shall never let the house after this."