"Yes sir." She gulped. "Mrs. Stourbridge went to bed about ten o’clock, or a little after. I laid out ’er clothes for tomorrow. A green-an’-white dress for the morning. She was going to visit a picture gallery." Her eyes filled with tears.

"What time did you leave her?" Robb asked.

She sniffed fiercely and made an attempt to dab her cheeks with the wet handkerchief. "About quarter to eleven."

"Was she already in bed?" Monk interrupted.

She looked at him with surprise.

"I’m sure you’ll remember, if you think for a moment," he encouraged. "It’s rather important."

"Is it?"

"Yes. It matters whether she was expecting someone to call on her or not."

"Oh. Yes. I see. No, I don’t. She wouldn’t hardly expect a thief who’d break in an’ kill her!"

"No one broke in, Pearl."

"What are you saying?" She was aghast. Her hands tightened in her lap till the handkerchief tore.

Robb took charge of the situation again.

"We are saying it was someone already in the house who killed Mrs. Stourbridge."

"It ... it never is!" She shook her head. "No one ’ere would do such a thing! We in’t murderers!" Now she was both frightened and affronted.

"Yes, it was," Robb insisted. "The local police and your own butler and footman have made a thorough search. No one broke in. Now, tell me all you know of everyone’s comings and goings from the time you left the dinner table until now."

She replied dutifully, but nothing she had to say either incriminated anyone or cleared them.

The maid assigned to Miriam was of no greater help. She had seen Miriam to her bed even earlier, and had no idea whether she had remained there or not. She had been excused and gone up to her own room in the attic. Mrs. Gardiner was extremely easy to work for, and she could not believe any ill of her, no matter what anyone said. People who couldn’t speak well shouldn’t speak at all.

Nor could any of the other servants swear to the movements of any of the family. However, the maids knew the time of each other’s retiring. The cook, whose room was nearest the stairs down, was a light sleeper, and the second stair creaked. She was certain no one had passed after she had gone up at a quarter to eleven.

At last Monk forced himself to go and look at the body. A local constable was on duty on the landing outside the door. He was tired and unhappy. He showed them in without looking past them.

Verona Stourbridge lay as if eased gently onto her back, halfway between the chest of drawers and the bed. It must have been where her husband had laid her when he realized he could do nothing more for her and at last let her go. The carpet was soaked dark with blood about a foot away from her head. It was easy to see where she had originally fallen.