“He must have been flung down into the fireplace with so much force that it killed him, they said. He was found with his head in the stone fireplace, covered with blood and dead. Fractured skull, the doctors said he died of. But his hands were gashed as if he’d been struggling with some one for a knife.” Rhoda was listening, in a state of stupefaction with horror. But she would not betray herself. Sitting very still, with her head bent, she listened. The housekeeper went on: “No knife was found, and though they saw some footsteps coming to the house, they found none going away again. That was odd and mysterious. Especially,” the housekeeper looked round her again, and dropped her voice, “as Sir Robert had been out in the grounds very late.” “Sir Robert!” echoed Rhoda, appalled. Mrs. Hawkes nodded. “That was the part of it that made us all uncomfortable,” she said, below her breath. “And that was why they wanted you to come forward. And you would have had to come, only your father said you knew nothing about it at all, and that it would have endangered your life to have had to come.” “Oh!” gasped Rhoda. “For everybody thought even more than they said. Everybody wanted to know if you had seen anybody.” She paused, and tried to look into Rhoda’s face. But the girl kept her head obstinately bent. Not for the world would she have had the nurse see the look of horror which she felt there must be in her own eyes. It was not that she thought that Sir Robert had killed his servant: not for one moment would she have admitted such a possibility. But she could herself have borne witness to the fact that some one did go upstairs after the struggle in the drawing room. Who could it have been? “There was lots of talk and idle gossip,” went on Mrs. Hawkes. “And even after the verdict was given, the talk went on just the same. You see it was known that nobody had any quarrel with Langford except the master, and it was known that Langford had had his notice, though why he got it was not rightly known.” There was a pause, but still Rhoda refrained from asking any questions. “And it never has been known,” added the housekeeper solemnly, “from that day to this.” “I couldn’t have said anything to help,” said Rhoda at last in a stifled voice. “Didn’t you see anything, or hear anything then?” “Yes. I heard a noise in the drawing-room,” admitted Rhoda, “and I went out by the front door.” “Yes, we knew that, for some one heard it shut. And that was one reason why we thought you must have known something.” Rhoda suddenly sat up. “Surely,” she said sharply, “nobody was so foolish and wicked as to think that Sir Robert, the best man in the world, had anything to do with it?” The housekeeper answered quickly:-- “Of course we, who knew him, didn’t think so. But there were plenty of unkind things said outside, you may be sure, miss.” “How shocking!”