Mrs. Grix smiled in a cunning and significant manner. "Oh, I ain't afraid of Martin, sir; no one as knows him fears him." "And why?" asked Gebb, sharply. This question Mrs. Grix did not choose to hear; but mumbling and shaking her old head, hobbled along the passages in the direction of the Yellow Room. She ushered Gebb into this with a chuckle, and threw open the shutters to let the sunlight shine on the faded and time-worn decorations of the room. "I s'pose you'll want to see this first," said Mrs. Grix; "most folks likes to see a room as a murder's been done in. There's a stain of blood over in that corner--master's blood, which Miss Gilmar would never let be wiped out I dessay master comes and looks at it, and wishes he had his body again. He was an awful bad one--and mean!" Mrs. Grix lifted up a pair of dirty and trembling hands. "They was both of 'em skinflints," said she, with a nod. "Whom are you speaking of, Mrs. Grix?" "Of Miss Gilmar and Mr. Kirkstone, sir." "Did you know them?" "Did I know them?" echoed the hag, with scorn. "Of course I knowed them; and a bad lot the pair of 'em was. They give Miss Laurer a fine time, I can tell you. I wonder she didn't go off with Mr. Dean, I do." "Were you here when the murder took place?" asked Gebb. "Lor' bless yer 'eart, I sawr the 'ole of it," croaked Mrs. Grix. "Master was a-lying over there with a knife in his 'eart, and Miss Gilmar, she was 'ollering for the police." "Did Dean kill Kirkstone?" "Ah, that's telling!" said Mrs. Grix, cunningly. "Don't you ask no questions, young man, and you won't be told no lies." "You must tell me!" cried Gebb, seizing her by the wrist "I am from Scotland Yard--a detective." And he shook the beldame furiously. Mrs. Grix raised a feeble wail of horror. "Lor', you're perlice, are you?" she whimpered. "Jist let me go; I know nothin'." "Did Laura Kirkstone kill her brother?" "I dunno; I swear I dunno." "Was Miss Gilmar the criminal?" Mrs. Grix leered. "She never told me she was, sir, but she didn't carry the Yeller Room about with her for nothing." "What do you mean?" said Gebb, releasing her. Mrs. Grix rubbed her wrist, which had been somewhat bruised by his clasp, and leered again. "Miss Gilmar wrote it all down," she said. "A confession?" cried the detective. "I dunno what you call it, sir; but I know she wrote it down, 'cause she said to me, 'It'll be all right when I'm dead.' Well, she are dead," said Mrs. Grix, "and it ain't all right, unless she left the writin' behind her." "Where is that confession?" "I dunno. I wish I did. There's money in it. I've hunted all over the 'ouse, and I can't come across it nohow." "Well, Mrs. Grix, what is your opinion? Was it Dean, or Miss Gilmar, or Miss Laura who killed the man?" "You look about for the paper, lovey," said Mrs. Grix, coaxingly, "and it'll tell ye all." "You tell me." "But I don't know for certain." "Never mind. What is your opinion?" "Will ye give me money for it?"