Sergeant Purse, who had come over from Redleigh to take charge of the matter, was a foxy-faced little man, lean and dried up in appearance, with beady black eyes like those of a rat. He was immensely interested in the matter, as he recognised that this was no common crime, and hoped by tracing the assassin to make a big reputation as a zealous officer and gain advancement. The description of the murderer given by Mrs. Vence was largely advertised, and pointed mention was made of the red-painted bicycle. In the illustrated daily papers pictures of Hedgerton and Maranatha appeared, both the inside and the outside of the house being delineated. Mrs. Vence also shared the honour of this painful publicity, and her portrait looked like that of an old witch. She was very much annoyed by this caricature. "Me like that," screamed the housekeeper, when Sergeant Purse showed her the picture. "Why, 'taint me at all. 'Tisn't saucy, and I always had a bit of sauciness about me." The sergeant, laughed drily. "You were not as young as you were." "Oh, I'm growing old, I don't deny," snapped Mrs. Vence, crushing up the paper wrathfully. "Sixty's getting on, say what you will. But I ain't so bad-looking when all's said and done, although not so handsome as when a gel. I'm active, too, cooking like an angel and celebrated for my tidiness." Purse had his own opinion about this, and, staring at the disreputable dirty old beldame, wondering for the hundredth time why a fastidious gentleman had engaged her. "Did you know Sir Hector before you came here?" he asked, wondering in his own mind why he had not put the question before. "No, I didn't," retorted Mrs. Vence, alertly. "I saw an advertisement in the paper as I picked up in a friend's house, and applied for the situation, saying I could cook and hold my tongue, so Sir Hector engaged me. I came down here a few days afore he did, quite a month ago, to get the house ready, and dirty it was, with that, old Peddler, the caretaker, as didn't half look after the furniture." "Why was it necessary for you to hold your tongue?" asked Purse, seizing on the only phrase in the speech which seemed to be important. "Lawks! How should I know? Sir Hector, he says to me, he says, 'Hold your tongue and don't talk, for I wants to be secret and quiet like for a bit.' Them were his words, and inquisitions won't make me say otherwise." "Did he explain why he wished to be secret and quiet like?"