"That's a lie," said Claudia, calmly, and without rising.

Mrs. Vence spluttered and shook with wrath, in her rage it seemed as though she were about to rise up and denounce her visitor. But a fit of coughing prevented her, and by the time it was over she felt too weak to scold. "It's the truth," she muttered sulkily, and took a wineglassful of medicine.

"Prove it!"

Claudia, who had entered the room anxious and perturbed, was now quite calm in asking questions.

Mrs. Vence was patently surprised to see how quietly the girl took the dreadful charge. "You don't seem much upset!" she croaked. "I thought you loved that par of yours, as a gel should."

"I do love my father," was Miss Lemby's steady reply, "and for that reason I decline to believe what you say."

"Then why come here to worrit me?" gasped the old woman, crossly. "Ain't I got enuff to put up with at my age without silly gels coming to tell me as I'm a liar. I can't say nothin' else."

"You can; you must. My father explained his movements at the inquest, and his testimony was accepted as exonerating him. And let me remind you. Mrs. Vence, that at the inquest you brought no charge against him."

"'Cause I warn't certain," retorted the old woman, promptly. "'Twas a nasty case, and I didn't want to be mixed up in it more'n I could help. I said as little as I could, and afterwards, when that Lady Wyke come and see me----

"Did she come and see you?" interposed Claudia, anxiously.

"Don't I say she did, cuss you?" growled Mrs. Vence hoarsely. "Of course she come and see me, to arsk if I know'd of anything likely to show who killed her old man. I told her what I told you, and she said as I'd better keep silent till she wanted me."

"She intended to accuse my father, then?"

"Yus. I s'pose so, when she was ready. And I thinks," added Mrs. Vence, with a dry cough, "as she's gitting ready; for she's arsked me down to Hedgerton at the end of the week--four days off, that is, miss."

"Are you going?"

"How can I say. If the inflewenzy lets me. I may. It means money in my pocket, and, not having a sitivation for months, I want money."

"What have you to say?" demanded Claudia, sternly.

"Say? The truth!" snarled Mrs. Vence, crossly. "And don't arsk me to say anything else, I beg, my mother having bin a Baptist and perticler proper."

"What is the truth?" "Well, your par was in the droring-room with the barnit when he come, and I crep up to listen to what they was saying, as I don't hold with folk heving secrets fro' me. I had my eye and my ear at the keyhole time and time about."

"What did you hear? What did you see?"

"I heard my master explaining as he couldn't marry you 'cause he was married already. Then your par guv a screech and swore awful. I peeped in at the keyhole, and saw him take out a clasp-knife and run at the old man. The barnit, he just laughed and waited, so your par didn't know what to do. Then at that moment come the ring at the door. I tumbled down the stairs and let in that gent as bolted on the bike later."

"Do you know who he was?" asked Claudia, anxiously.

"No, I didn't, him being muffled up," growled Mrs. Vence.

"What happened then?" asked Claudia, quickly.

"What I said at the inquest. Sir Hector, he took the new gent into his study, and told me to bring cake and wine in a quarter of an hour. I said I was in the kitchen, but," said Mrs. Vence, with a leer, "I wasn't there the whole time. Oh, no, bless you. I wanted to see what it all meant!"

"And you listened?"

"I listened and looked," retorted the housekeeper, shamelessly. "My master and the new gent talked about some will, and then the barnit took the gent into the dining-room to show him some papers. Then," said Mrs. Vence, earnestly, "I saw that par of yours coming down the stairs; with the clasp-knife open in his hand, looking savage-like. I was so feared that I ran back to the kitchen just as I heard Sir Hector returning to the study. Then I comes in with the cake and wine some time later, and found my master lying dead on the rug, and the gent as bolted on the bike bending over him."

"And my father?" faltered Claudia, with a sinking heart. "Oh, he got back up the stairs, and didn't come down until that there postman and the police came. Clever, he was. But he didn't know as I'd seen him coming down to stick the old man. You know, miss, how the post come, and how the gent opened the door?"

"Yes, yes; I know." Claudia rose with an effort. "All you say sounds reasonable, enough, from your point of view."

"It'll be the same fro' the jury's point of view," snapped Mrs. Vence.

"I don't believe it," cried Miss Lemby in despair. "Whatever you may say, my father is innocent. You didn't see him strike the blow."

"But he comed down the stairs with the knife," grinned the housekeeper. "Oh, he did it right enuff--your par, I mean. I believe that boy saw it, too."

"What boy? Do you mean Neddy Mellin?"

"Yus. He was in the house--in the kitchen with me."

"But he said he came with the washing later."

"Then he's a liar," said Mrs. Vence, morosely. "He come earlier, and was keeping me company in the kitchen. An imp, he is; not as you knows him, miss."

"I know him very well," said Claudia, secretly glad to hear that the boy had been on the scene, as his evidence would be valuable. "He is a great friend of mine. I shall see him and make him tell me everything."

"He won't; he won't," said Mrs. Vence, hurriedly, and appeared to be somewhat discomposed, as if she feared she had let out too much.

"Oh, yes, he will, Mrs. Vence. I saw him the other day, and he half-promised to tell me the truth. I'm going now."

"Pity you ever came," snarled the old woman, restlessly. "You're only bringing your par to the gallers. If you speak to that imp, he'll put a rope round the neck of your par for sure."

"Neddy will do nothing to harm me and mine, as he is fond of me."

"Oh, is he? Then he'll hev to tell lies to save your par."

............