Greene's jaw dropped a little, and his eyes opened wider.
"By Jove—no! Now that you mention it . . . she always locked herself in."
Vance nodded absently, and we passed out into the hall. A thin, swinging baize door hid the servants' stair-well at the rear, and Markham pushed it open.
"Nothing much here to deaden the sound," he observed.
"No," agreed Greene. "And old Sproot's room is right at the head of the steps. He's got good ears, too—too damned good sometimes."
We were about to turn back, when a high-pitched querulous voice issued from the partly open door on our right.
"Is that you, Chester? What's all this disturbance? Haven't I had enough distraction and worry?"
Greene had gone to his mother's door and put his head inside.
"It's all right, Mater," he said irritably. "It's only the police nosing around."
"The police?" Her voice was contemptuous. "What do they want? Didn't they upset me enough last night? Why don't they go and look for the villain instead of congregating outside my door and annoying me?—So, it's the police." Her tone became vindictive. "Bring them in here at once, and let me talk to them. The police, indeed!"
Greene looked helplessly at Markham, who merely nodded; and we entered the invalid's room. It was a spacious chamber, with windows on three sides, furnished elaborately with all manner of conflicting
