Two things struck him as strange. First, that Mrs. Narby should have so suddenly lost her temper with a man whom she apparently desired to propitiate; and second, that she--or Narby--should have so unexpectedly inherited a legacy. If she really had money it was quite natural that she should have let Pope go to London to publish his poetry, for the virago adored her son, even though she did not understand his writing. But where had Mrs. Narby got that money? Gowrie, in his frequent visits, had learned a lot about Narby's past life in the States; but he had never heard that the Anglo-American expected a legacy. Indeed, Mrs. Narby, on one occasion, had said that neither herself nor her husband were bothered with relatives. It was queer that the money should come to them so suddenly, and from an unknown source. Equally queer that the pair should decide to seek America and give up the inn. Certainly the inn had been doing better business than ever, since the murder, owing to the morbid curiosity of visitors, so it was odd, to say the least of it, that at such a moment, a money-making concern should be given up. "Aye!" meditated Gowrie, sipping his drink, "I mind now. Th' auld mon hed siller wi' him, es yon lawyer body tauld Kind. Twa thoosand. Aye! A couple o' hundreds in gold, an' one thoosand eight hundred in notes, Bank o' England, nae doot. Hoots! they wudnae gang wi' only twa hundred in gold, an' they darenae cash the notes. Aye! The ways o' transgressors are haird." These thoughts revealed plainly that Mr. Gowrie suspected Mrs. Narby of having killed Sir Simon, either with or without the connivance of her husband, in order to get the money. The gold she had used to send Pope to London, and doubtless had supplied him with a sum to publish his verse; but the notes, owing to the warning of the numbers being kept having been given in the newspapers, had not been presented. The desire to go at once to the States was thus explained. Mrs. Narby, and possibly her husband, were flying from justice. Gowrie was certain that she had killed the old man, as he remembered the swish of a woman's dress which he had heard in the darkness. There was a sound about that which a keen-eared man like himself could not mistake. "And then she knew that Herries was drugged," thought Gowrie, "and so implicated him in the crime by placing the razor on his quilt and smearing his sleeve with blood. Then she found the pocket-book under the bed, where no doubt she placed it. Those who hide, find. I see now that she is guilty--the money carried by Sir Simon was too tempting for her. She must have hidden the notes somewhere. If I could only find them, I would soon have her in charge."