Garth stooped swiftly forward and grasped her arm.
"What's that you're saying? His daughter! You mean to tell me McDonald has a daughter, and she was in the house last night?"
She shrank from his excited gesture.
"Yes. He asked me not to tell you, but I'm frightened. I don't want to get in trouble. She's the housekeeper. She engages all the servants and runs the house."
"Then where is she now?"
"She must have gone out early this morning, sir, for I haven't seen her all day. I wanted to be fair. I've only been waiting for her to come back so I could tell her I was leaving."
"Send McDonald back to me," Garth said, "unless he's left the house, too."
The butler had deliberately lied to shield his daughter, and had asked secrecy of this girl. And all this talk of spirits and of cries! It was turning out an interesting case after all — possibly an abnormal one. Moreover, he was getting somewheres with it.
McDonald slipped in. He was more agitated than before. His face was distorted. His tongue moistened his lips thirstily. Against his will Garth applied the method he knew would bring the quickest result with such a man. He grasped the stooped shoulders. He shouted:
"Why did you lie when I asked you who was in the house at the time of the murder?"
