"Ah! then, probably he opened the gate from the inside, and when he met you he was too startled to take it out of the lock.--And the smaller key--that belonging to the little gate, Mr. Inspector?"

"It is hanging on the wall of the counting-house now."
"Then you know----"

"I know nothing," snapped the man angrily, and wiping his swarthy face with a duster. "Master sent me to London last night, as you knew, missy. I only came down by the morning train, and walked here, in time to find you with Mrs. Snow. What did she want?"

Beatrice smiled faintly in her turn. "Subscriptions for the church spire, which was blown down last night."

"Oh! That was the excuse?"

"Excuse for what, Durban?"

"To see you, missy, and learn---- But there!" Durban turned away. "She came here to make . Thank Heaven he is dead, and you will get the money. Mrs. Snow can't harm you now."

"Why should she wish to harm me, Durban?"

"That's a long story, missy. Now that the master is dead, I can tell it to you. But first we must learn who killed----"

"I know," interrupted Beatrice quickly; "a tall man, with a black patch over his left eye."

Durban turned greener than ever. "How do you know that, missy?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"I saw him when the gates were open, about nine o'clock last night."

Durban looked at her sharply. "Then you did go for that walk, missy?"

"Yes, I had to. Mr. Paslow wished to see me. Durban"--she made a step forward, and clutched his arm tightly--"I'll tell you what I don't intend to tell any one else," and without giving the man time to make an observation, she related the whole story of her adventure, suppressing only the episode of the handkerchief. This she did, so as to avert any possible suspicion from Vivian, since Durban, knowing that Paslow had been with her, would not connect him with the crime--that is, if he was stupid enough not to calculate the time, and thus prove the futility of the alibi.

Durban listened quietly enough. "I am glad that Mr. Paslow will marry you, missy," he said at last, and removed her grasp from his arm. "You will inherit a lot of money from the dead master. It ought to be twenty thousand a year!"

"But, Durban, Mr. Alpenny told me very plainly that if he died, I would be a pauper."

"I don't believe it," burst out the half-caste; "he would not dare to--to----" Here he halted and stammered, "C--c--curse him!"

"Durban!" She stepped back a pace in sheer amazement at the savagery of the tone.

"Dead, or alive, curse him!" cried Durban, his voice gathering strength from the intensity of his hate. "He was a scoundrel--you don't know how great a scoundrel. Missy"--he grasped her arm in his turn--"you shall have the money, I swear it. Then marry Mr. Paslow, and go away for a few years, till all blows over."

"Till what blows over?" asked Beatrice anxiously.

"Hush!" Durban let go her arm, and controlled himself by a violent effort. "The police! Say as little as you can. You know nothing--I know nothing."

"Durban, are you afraid?"

"Of Mrs. Snow. Hush!"

The last words were scarcely out of his mouth when the two policemen, who had entered the gates left open by Mrs. Snow, came up to them with important airs. The sergeant was stout and short, the constable lean and tall.

"We take possession of this place, miss," said the stout man breathlessly.

"In the name of the King and the law," finished the lean person.

"And anything you say will be used in evidence against you," they both murmured in a breath, then stared sternly at the startled girl and the green-hued half-caste.

"Do what you like," said Beatrice, drawing herself up; "neither myself nor Durban know anything."

"But----" began the sergeant, snorting with excitement.

"I will answer all questions at the proper time, and at the proper place," said Miss Hedge, cutting the plethoric man short. Then she retired into her bedroom and shut the door.