“Servant yourself!  Such sauce!” muttered Jane, with an angry toss of her cap at the daring young policeman.  “I know nothing.  I left my mistress in the parlor writing letters, and never heard anyone come in.  The bell didn’t sound anyhow.  The first thing I knew that anything was wrong was on hearing the screams.  When I looked into the parlor the candles and the lamp were out, and there was a struggle going on in the dark.  Then I cried out, very naturally, I’m sure, and ran straight into the arms of these gentlemen, as soon as I could get the front door open.”

After delivering this address, Jane was called away to assist the doctor in the bedroom, and along with Archie and Random the constable repaired to the pink parlor to hear what they had to say.  Of course they could tell him even less than Jane had told, and Archie protested that he was quite unable to describe the man who had dashed out of the window.

“Ah,” said Painter sapiently, “he got out there; but how did he enter?”

“No doubt by the door,” said Random sharply.

“We don’t know that, sir.  Jane says she did not hear the bell.”

“Mrs. Jasher might have let the man in, whomsoever he was, secretly.”

“Why should she, sir?”

“Ah! now you are asking more than I can tell you.  Only Mrs. Jasher can explain, and it seems to me that she will die.”

Meanwhile, in some mysterious way the news of the crime had spread through the village, and although it was growing late—­ for it was past ten o’clock—­a dozen or so of villagers came along.  Also there arrived a number of soldiers under a smart sergeant, and to him Sir Frank explained what had happened.  In the fainthearted way—­for the mist was now like cotton-wool—­ the military and the civilians hunted through the marshes round the cottage, hoping to come across the assassin hiding in a ditch.  Needless to say, they found no one and nothing, for it was worse than looking for a needle in a bundle of hay.  The man had come out of the mist, and, after executing the deed, had vanished into the mist, and there was not the very slightest chance of finding him.  Gradually, as it drew towards midnight, the soldiers went back to the Fort, and the villagers to their homes.  But, along with the doctor and the constable, Hope and his military friend stopped on.  They were determined to get at the root of the mystery, and when Mrs. Jasher became sensible she would be able to reveal the truth.

“It’s all of a piece with the sending of the emerald,” said Random to the artist, “and that is connected, as we know, with the death of Bolton.”

“Do you think that this man who has struck down Mrs. Jasher is the same one who strangled Sidney Bolton?”

“I should think so.  Perhaps Mrs. Jasher sent the emerald after all, and this man killed her out of revenge.”

“But how would he know that she had the emerald?”