"I believe so. It was sent by the man who wrote the play." "Who is he?" "I can't say. One of that lot who play at being poets in Octagon House. A set of idiots. But what do you make of all this, Jennings?" "I think with you that Mrs. Octagon and her cub of a son are trying to stop the marriage by bringing you into the matter of the crime. Were you down there on that night?" "Yes," said Cuthbert with hesitation, and to Jennings' surprise, "I did not intend to say anything about it, as my uncle asked me to hold my tongue. But since things have come to this pass, you may as well know that I was there--and about the time of the murder too." Jennings sat up and stared. "Great heavens! Mallow, why didn't you tell me this the other night?" "You might have arrested me then and there," retorted Cuthbert. "I promised my uncle to hold my tongue. But now--" "You will tell me all. My dear fellow, make a clean breast of it." "Rest easy, you shall learn everything. You know that the house at the back of Rose Cottage has been deserted for something like twenty years more or less." "Yes. You told me about it the other night." "Caranby ran a fifteen-feet wall round it and the inside is a regular jungle. Well, the house is supposed to be haunted. Lights have been seen moving about and strange noises have been heard." "What kind of noises?" "Oh, moans and clanking chains and all that sort of thing. I heard indirectly about this, through Juliet." "Where did she hear the report?" "From Miss Loach's cook. A woman called Pill. The cook asserted that the house was haunted, and described the noises and the lights. I don't believe in spooks myself, and thought some tricks were being played, so one day I went down and had a look." "That day I was there?" asked Jennings, recalling Cuthbert's presence. "Before that--a week or two. I saw nothing. The house is rotting and nothing appeared to be disturbed. I examined the park and found no footmarks. In fact, there wasn't a sign of anyone about." "You should have gone at night when the ghost was larking." "That's what Caranby said. I told him when he came back to London. He was very annoyed. You know his romance about that house--an absurd thing it is. All the same, Caranby is tender on the point. I advised him to pull the house down and let the land out for building leases. He thought he would, but asked me to go at night and stir up the ghost. I went on the night of the murder, and got into the grounds by climbing the wall. There's no gate, you know." "At what time?" "Some time between ten and eleven. I'm not quite sure." "Good heavens! man, that is the very hour the woman was killed!" "Yes. And for that reason I held my tongue; particularly as I got over the wall near the cottage." "Where do you mean?"