"Yes, sir. She was under notice. But after her rudeness, Mrs. Howett packed her off right away. She left the very next day after poor Sir Charles died."
"Where has she gone?"
"To a married sister, I believe, until she finds a new job. Mrs. Howett has the address."
At this moment Mrs. Howett entered, bearing a tablecloth and a number of serviettes.
"This was the cloth," she said, spreading it out, "but which of the serviettes were used I cannot say."
"Allow me to look," replied Paul Harley.
One by one he began to inspect the serviettes, opening each in turn and examining it critically.
"What have we here!" he exclaimed, presently. "Have blackberries been served within the week, Mrs. Howett?"
"We never had them on the table, Mr. Harley. Sir Charles—God rest him—said they irritated the stomach. Good gracious!" She turned to Benson. "How is it I never noticed those stains, and what can have caused them?"
The serviette which Paul Harley held outstretched was covered all over with dark purple spots.
