“At what time?”

“Some time between ten and eleven.  I’m not quite sure.”

“Good heavens! man, that is the very hour the woman was killed!”

“Yes.  And for that reason I held my tongue; particularly as I got over the wall near the cottage.”

“Where do you mean?”

“Well, there’s a field of corn nearly ready to be cut near the cottage.  It’s divided from the garden by a fence.  I came along the foot-path that leads from the station and jumped the fence.”

“Did you enter Miss Loach’s grounds?”

“No.  I had no right to.  I saw a light in the basement, but I did not take much notice.  I was too anxious to find the ghost.  Well, I ran along the fence—­on the field-of-corn side, remember, and got over the wall.  Then I dodged through the park, scratching myself a lot.  I could find nothing.  The house seemed quiet enough, so after a quarter of an hour I had enough of it.  I got out over the wall on the other side and came home.  I caught a cold which necessitated my wearing a great-coat the next day.  So there you have my ghost-hunting, and a fine fool I was to go.”

“I wish you had told me this before, Mallow.”

“If I had, you would have thought I’d killed the old woman.  But I tell you now, as I want this matter sifted to the bottom.  I refused to speak before, as I didn’t wish to be dragged into the case.”

“Did you see anything in the cottage?”

“Not a thing.  I saw no one—­I heard no sound.”

“Not even a scream?”

“Not even a scream,” said Mallow; “had I heard anything I should have gone to see what was the matter.”

“Strange!” murmured Jennings, “can’t you tell the exact time?”

“Not to a minute.  It was shortly after ten.  I can’t say how many minutes.  Perhaps a quarter of an hour.  But not suspecting anything was going to happen, I didn’t look at my watch.”

Jennings looked thoughtfully at the carpet.  “I wonder if the assassin escaped that way,” he murmured.

“Which way?”

“Over the wall and through the park.  You see, he could not have gone up the lane or through the railway path without stumbling against that policeman.  But he might have slipped out of the front door at half-past ten and climbed as you did over the wall to cross the park and drop over the other.  In this way he would elude the police.”

“Perhaps,” said Cuthbert disbelievingly; “but it was nearly eleven when I left the park.  If anyone had been at my heels I would have noticed.”

“I am not so sure of that.  The park, as you say, is a kind of jungle.  The man might have seen you and have taken his precautions.  Moreover,” added the detective, sitting up alertly, “he might have written to Miss Saxon saying he saw you on that night.  And she—­”

“Bosh!” interrupted Mallow roughly, “he would give himself away.”

“Not if the letter was anonymous.”