“Oh, it’s you, Lady Hawse-Gorzley. What a terrible thing to happen. Poor Miss Effie. We sent the girl to telephone for the doctor.”

“Dickson is helping her do so at this moment,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “This gentleman is a former detective from Scotland Yard. He may be able to throw some light on what happened.”

“Throw some light,” the woman said. “There was something wrong with that gas, that’s all. What else could there be?”

We went up a broad curved staircase and were met at the top by Miss Prendergast, who was trying to give an impression of being calm while clearly being considerably agitated.

“Thank God somebody else has come,” she said. “What a terrible business. I didn’t believe it when the maid ran out in hysterics. But I’m afraid it’s true. See for yourselves.”

She opened the door to a bedroom. The faint odor of gas still lingered, but the windows were wide open and an ice-cold breeze blew in. I glanced at the small white figure in the bed. She looked so tiny, so frail. I looked away hurriedly and rather wished I hadn’t come. What had made me think I could be of any use?

Granddad looked around. “I don’t know how she managed to kill herself in a big room like this with the windows open,” he said.

“Oh, no, I opened the windows,” Miss Prendergast said quickly. “Everyone here was in such a state, they hadn’t even thought to do so. So it was the first thing I did. I turned off the gas and opened the windows or we might all have suffered the same fate as Miss Effie. They were shut tightly. The smell in here was horrible. Poor woman. It had to have been a malfunction. Either that or one of the servants turned it on and forgot to light it properly. Of course, you’ll never get her to own up to it now.”

Lady Hawse-Gorzley sniffed contemptuously. “That’s what comes of sleeping with the windows shut. Nasty, unhealthy habit. Good fresh air never hurt anyone.”

“Well, that’s the strange thing, ma’am,” the housekeeper said. “Miss Effie usually slept with her window open, and the door open too. Miss Florrie is prone to nightmares, so Miss Effie kept her door open in case her sister cried out in her sleep.”

“But they were both closed last night?” I asked.

She nodded. “They were indeed. I suppose it was snowing and she didn’t want the snow to come in. And maybe the wind blew the door shut.”

“Then maybe it was a gust of wind that blew out the fire,” I suggested.

“Yes, that would be it,” Miss Prendergast agreed. “Temperamental things, gas fires. I won’t have them in the house.”

Granddad was prowling the room, not touching anything, but checking. “This lady—she hadn’t given any signs of being depressed or worried lately, then?”

The housekeeper, who had been lurking close to the doorway, gave a little cry. “Suicide, is that what you’re suggesting, sir? Never. Not Miss Effie. She was the one who kept this place going. Had us all on our toes and took good care of her sisters. No, she’d never have left them in the lurch.”