She had gone to the theatre, leaving her aunt all alone in the house; she had arrived home at one o’clock by the late Wednesday-night train, and had gone straight into the sitting-room, where she had found her aunt dead before her writing-table.

“That she travelled up to London in the afternoon was easily proved; the station-master and the porters had seen her go. Unfortunately for her alibi, however, those late ‘theatre’ trains on that line are always very crowded; the night had been dark and foggy, and no one at or near the station could swear positively to having seen her arrive home again by the train she named.

“There was one thing more; although the importance of it had been firmly impressed upon Pamela Pebmarsh, she absolutely refused to name the friends with whom she had been to the theatre that night, and who, presumably, might have helped her to prove at what hour she left London for home.

“Whilst all this was going on, I was watching Pamela’s face intently. That the girl was frightened – nay more, terrified – there could be no doubt; the twitching of her hands, her eyes dilated with terror, spoke of some awful secret which she dare not reveal, but which she felt was being gradually brought to light. Was that secret the secret of a crime – a crime so horrible, so gruesome, that surely so young a girl would be incapable of committing?

“So far, however, what struck everyone mostly during this inquest was the seeming purposelessness of this cruel murder. The old lady, as far as could be ascertained, had no money to leave, so why should Pamela Pebmarsh have deliberately murdered the aunt who provided her, at any rate, with the comforts of a home? But the police, assisted by one of the most able detectives on the staff, had not effected so sensational an arrest without due cause; they had a formidable array of witnesses to prove their case up to the hilt. One of these was Jemima Gadd, the late Miss Pebmarsh’s servant.

“She came forward attired in deep black, and wearing a monumental crape bonnet crowned with a quantity of glistening black beads. With her face the colour of yellow wax, and her thin lips pinched tightly together, she stood as the very personification of Puritanism and uncharitableness.

“She did not look once towards Pamela, who gazed at her like some wretched bird caught in a net, which sees the meshes tightening round it more and more.

“Replying to the coroner, Jemima Gadd explained that on the Wednesday morning she had had a letter from her sister at Luton, asking her to come over and see her some day.

“‘As there was plenty of cold meat in the ’ouse,’ she said, ‘I asked the mistress if she could spare me until the next day, and she said yes, she could. Miss Pamela and she could manage quite well.’

“‘She said nothing about her niece going out, too, on the same day?’ asked the coroner.

“‘No,’ replied Jemima acidly, ‘she did not. And later on, at breakfast, Miss Pebmarsh said to Miss Pamela before me: “Pamela,” she says, “Jemima is going to Luton, and won’t be back until tomorrow. You and I will be alone, in the ’ouse until then.”’

“‘And what did the accused say?’

“‘She says, “All right, Aunt.”’

“‘Nothing more?’

“‘No, nothing more.’

“‘There was no question, then, of the accused going out also, and leaving Miss Pebmarsh all alone in the house?’

“‘None at all,’ said Jemima emphatically. ‘If there ’ad been I’d ’ave ’eard of it. I needn’t ’ave gone that day. Any day would ’ave done for me.’

“She closed her thin lips with a snap, and darted a vicious look at Pamela. There was obviously some old animosity lurking beneath that gigantic crape monument on the top of Jemima’s wax-coloured head.

“‘You know nothing, then, about any disagreement between the deceased and the accused on the subject of her going to the theatre that day?’ asked the coroner, after a while.

“‘No, not about that,’ said Jemima curtly, ‘but there was plenty of disagreements between those two, I can tell you.’

“‘Ah? what about?’

“‘Money, mostly. Miss Pamela was over-fond of fine clothes, but Miss Pebmarsh, who was giving ’er a ’ome and ’er daily bread, ’adn’t much money to spare for fallalery. Miss Pebmarsh ’ad a small pension from a lady of the haristocracy, but it wasn’t much – a pound a week it was. Miss Pebmarsh might ’ave ’ad a lot more if she’d wanted to.’

“‘Oh?’ queried the coroner, ‘how was that?’

“‘Well, you see, that fine lady ’ad not always been as good as she ought to be. She’d been Miss Pamela’s friend when they were both on the stage together, and pretty goings on, I can tell you, those two were up to, and –’

“‘That’ll do,’ interrupted the coroner sternly. ‘Confine yourself, please, to telling the jury about the pension Miss Pebmarsh had from a lady.’

“‘I was speaking about that,’ said Jemima, with another snap of her thin lips. ‘Miss Pebmarsh knew a thing or two about this fine lady, and she ’ad some letters which she often told me that fine lady would not care for ’er ’usband or ’er fine friends to read. Miss Pamela got to know about these letters, and she worried ’er poor aunt to death, for she wanted to get those letters and sell them to the fine lady for ’undreds of pounds. I ’ave ’eard ’er ask for those letters times and again, but Miss Pebmarsh wouldn’t give them to ’er, and they was locked up in the writing-table drawer, and Miss Pamela wanted those letters, for she wanted to get ’undreds of pounds from the fine lady, and my poor mistress was murdered for those letters – and she was murdered by that wicked girl ’oo eat ’er bread and ’oo would ’ave starved but for ’er. And so I tell you, and I don’t care ’oo ’ears me say it.”

“No one had attempted to interrupt Jemima Gadd as she delivered herself of this extraordinary tale, which so suddenly threw an unexpected and lurid light upon the mystery of poor Miss Pebmarsh’s death.

“That the tale was a true one, no one doubted for a single instant. One look at the face of the accused was sufficient to prove it beyond question. Pamela Pebmarsh had become absolutely livid; she tottered almost as if she would fall, and the constable had to support her until a chair was brought forward for her.

“As for Jemima Gadd, she remained absolutely impassive. Having given her evidence, she stepped aside automatically like a yellow waxen image, which had been wound up and had now run down. There was silence for a while. Pamela Pebmarsh, more dead than alive, was sipping a glass of brandy and water, which alone prevented her from falling in a dead faint.

“Detective Inspector Robinson now stepped forward.