We went up the front walk, which had been swept clean, and Sproot admitted us to the house. His face was as blank as ever, and he took our coats with his usual obsequious formality.
"You'd better go to your room now, Miss Greene," said Markham, placing his hand kindly on Ada's arm. "Lie down, and try to get a little rest. You look tired. I'll be in to see you before I go."
The girl obeyed submissively without a word.
"And you, Sproot," he ordered; "come in the living-room."
The old butler followed us and stood humbly before the centre-table, where Markham seated himself.
"Now, let's hear your story."
Sproot cleared his throat and stared out of the window.
"There's very little to tell, sir. I was in the butler's pantry, polishing the glassware, when I heard the shot"
"Go back a little further," interrupted Markham. "I understand you made a trip to Third Avenue at nine this morning."
"Yes, sir. Miss Sibella bought a Pomeranian yesterday, and she asked me to get some dog-biscuits after breakfast."
"Who called at the house this morning?"
"No one, sir—that is, no one but Doctor Von Blon."
"All right. Now tell us everything that happened."
"Nothing happened, sir—nothing unusual, that is—until poor Mr. Rex was shot. Miss Ada went out a few minutes after Doctor Von Blon arrived; and a
