"Do you mean that you'd have her arrested?"

"I do--that is if, as I say, I obtain anything in the nature of corroborative evidence, and for that I look to Mr Granger."

There was no necessity for him to do that, fortunately for the peace of mind and body of the active and intelligent officer referred to.

Evidence of the kind of which he spoke was coming from an altogether different quarter. Indeed, it was already at the door.

Hardly had he done speaking than a modest tap was heard. Opening, Mrs Granger found a small urchin standing in the dusk without, who slipped an envelope into her hand, with which she returned into the room, peering at the address.

"What's this? 'To the Policeman.' I suppose, William, that means you; it's only some rubbish, I suppose."

She pa.s.sed the envelope to her husband, who peered at the address as she had done.

"Let's have the lamp, Susan, you can't see to read in this here light.

Not that I suppose it's anything worth reading, but mine ain't cat's eyes anyhow."

The lamp was lit and placed upon the table. Mr Granger studied what was written on the sheet of paper which he took from the envelope.

"Robert Champion was the name of the man who was murdered in the wood.

The mistress of Exham Park, who calls herself Miss Arnott, was his wife. He came out of Wandsworth Prison to see her. And he saw her.

"Ask her why she said nothing about it.

"Then the whole truth will come out."

Mr Granger read this once, twice, thrice, while his wife and Mr Nunn were watching him. Then he scratched his head.

"This is rummy--uncommon. Here, you take and look at it, it's beyond me altogether."

He handed the sheet of paper to Mr Nunn, who mastered its contents at a glance. Then he addressed a question to Mrs Granger, shortly, sharply.

"Who gave you this?"

"What is it?"

"Never mind what it is, woman! Answer my question--who gave it you?"

"It's no use your speaking to me like that, Mr Nunn, and so I'd have you know. I'm no servant of yours! Some child slipped it into my hand, but what with the bad light and the flurry I was in because of what you'd been saying, I didn't notice what child no more than nothing at all."

Mr Nunn seemed disturbed.

"It'll be a serious thing for you, Mrs Granger, if you're not able to recognise who gave you this. You say it was a child? There can't be so many children in the place. I'll find out which of them it was if I have to interview every one in the parish. It can't have got so far away; perhaps it's still waiting outside."

As he moved towards the entrance, with a view of finding out if the bearer of that singular communication was still loitering in the immediate neighbourhood, he became conscious that someone was approaching from without--more than one. While he already had the handle in his grasp it was turned with a certain degree of violence by someone on the other side; the door was thrown open, and he found himself confronted by what, in the gathering darkness, seemed quite a crowd of persons.

"Is William Granger in?" demanded a feminine voice in not the most placable of tones. Mr Nunn replied,--

"Mr Granger is in. Who are you, and what do you want with him?"

"I'm his sister, Elizabeth Wilson, that's who I am, and I should like to know who you are to ask me such a thing. And as for what I want, I want justice; me and my daughter, Sarah Ann, we both want justice--and I'm going to see I get it too. My own cousin, Jim Baker, he's in prison this moment for what he never did, and I'm going to see that he's let out of prison double quick and the party as ought to be in prison put there. So you stand out of the way and let me get inside this house to see my brother."

Mr Nunn did as he was requested, and Mrs Wilson entered, accompanied by her daughter, Sarah Ann. He looked at the a.s.semblage without.

"Who are all these people?"

"They're my friends, that's who they are. They know all about it, and they've come to see that I have fair play, and they'll see that I have it too, and so I'd have everyone to understand."

By way of commentary Mr Nunn shut the door upon the "friends" and stood with his back to it.

"Now then, Granger, who's this woman? And what's she talking about?"

Mrs Wilson answered for her brother.

"Don't you call me a woman, as if I was the dirt under your feet. And as for who I am--William, who's this man? He's taking some fine airs on himself. As what I have to say to you I don't want to have to say before strangers, perhaps you'll just ask him to take himself outside."

"Now, Liz," observed her brother, fraternally, "don't you be no more silly than you can help. This gentleman's Mr Nunn, what's in charge of the case--you know what case. He saw Jim Baker in Winchester Gaol only this afternoon."

"In Winchester Gaol, did he! Then more shame to them as put him in Winchester Gaol, and him as innocent as the babe unborn! And with them as did ought to be there flaunting about in all them fine feathers, and with all their airs and graces, as if they were so many peac.o.c.ks!"

"What might you happen to be talking about?"

"I'm talking about what I know, that's what I happen to be talking about, William Granger, and so you'll soon learn. I know who ought to be there instead of him, and if you've a drop of cousinly blood in your veins you'll see that he's out of that vile place, where none of my kith or kin ever was before, and that you know, the first thing to-morrow morning."

"Oh, you know who did ought to be there, do you? This is news, this is.

Perhaps you'll mention that party's name. Only let me warn you, Elizabeth Wilson, to be careful what you say, or you may find yourself in worse trouble than you quite like."

"I'll be careful what I say, I don't need you to tell me, William Granger! And I'll tell you who ought to be in Winchester Gaol instead of Jim Baker--why, that there proud, stuck-up young peac.o.c.k over at Exham Park, that there Miss Arnott!"

"Liz! I've told you already not to be more silly than you can help.

What do you know about Miss Arnott?"

"What do I know about Miss Arnott? I'll soon tell you what I know about your fine Miss Arnott. Sarah Ann, tell your uncle what you know about that there Miss Arnott."

Then the tale was unfolded--by Wilson the housemaid--by degrees, with many repet.i.tions, in somewhat garbled form; still, the essential truth, so far as she knew it, was there.

She told how, that eventful Sat.u.r.day, the young mistress had been out in the woods, as she put it, "till goodness only knows what hours of the night." How, the next morning, the key of the wardrobe drawer was lost; how, after many days, she, Wilson, had found it in the hem of her own skirt, how she had tried the lock, "just to see if it really was the key," of what the drawer contained--the stained clothing, the b.l.o.o.d.y knife. She narrated, with dramatic force, how first Evans and then Miss Arnott had come upon the scene, how the knife and the camisole had been wrested from her, how she herself had been ejected from the house.

When she had finished Mr Nunn looked up from the pocket-book in which he had been making copious notes of the words as they came from her lips.

"What you've said, Sarah Ann Wilson, you've said of your own free will?"

"Of course I have. Haven't I come here on purpose?"

"And you're prepared to repeat your statement in a court of law, and swear to its truth?"

"I am. I'll swear to it anywhere."