The Yellow Holly. Hume Fergus

Mrs. Jersey was an early riser, and usually had a cup of tea in her sitting-room at seven o'clock. After this refresher she gave audience to the cook, looked over her tradesmen's books, and complained generally that the servants were not doing their duty. Madame was not at her best in the morning, and Jarvey went up most unwillingly. The housemaid should have gone, but when she could she sent Jarvey, and when he refused to go Fritz was dispatched to bear the brunt of Madame's anger. She usually scolded Fritz in French.

      When the boy went the servants continued chatting and eating. It was just on seven, and they were reluctantly rising to begin their duties, when a crash was heard and then a clatter of boots, "There," cried the cook, "that brat's been and smashed the tray. Won't Madame give it to him? Mercy! mercy!" – her voice leaped an octave-"he's mad!"

      This was because Jarvey, with his hair on end and his face perfectly white, tore into the kitchen. He raced round and round the table, his eyes starting from his head. The servants huddled together in fear, and the cook seized the toasting-fork. They all agreed with her that the page was mad. Suddenly Jarvey tumbled in a heap, and began to moan, with his face on the floor. "Oh! the blood-the blood!"

      "What's he saying about blood?" asked the scared cook.

      Jarvey leaped to his feet. "She's dead-she's murdered!" he shrieked. "I see her all covered with blood. Oh-mother-oh, I want my mother!" and down he dropped on the floor again, kicking and screaming.

      The boy was scared out of his life, and Fritz laid hold of him, while the other servants, headed by the valiant cook, ran up the stairs and burst into Madame's sitting-room, which was on the ground floor, and no great distance from the front door. The next moment they were out again, all shrieking murder and calling loudly for the police. The sleeping boarders took the alarm, and in the lightest of attire appeared on the stairs with white faces. The terrible word shrieked by a dozen voices through the silent house curdled the blood in their aged veins. What with the early hour, the fog, the gas, and the crying of the servants, it was like a nightmare.

      An hour later the police were in the house, summoned by Miss Bull, who alone of the boarders retained her head. As Margery, who was next in command after her aunt, could not be brought to do anything, Miss Bull took charge. It was Miss Bull who first ventured into the sitting-room where Madame, huddled up in a chair drawn to the table, lay face downward in such a position as to reveal a gaping wound in her neck. And it was Miss Bull who sent the servants back to the kitchen, who closed the door of the death-chamber, and who told Jarvey to fetch the nearest policeman. Consequently it was Miss Bull whom the inspector addressed, as she seemed to be the sole person in authority. Mrs. Taine retreated to her bedroom with a prayer-book, Mr. Granger went for a walk in the fog, Margery sat in a stupor, her eyes dull and her slack mouth awry. The little old maid, from being a nonentity, became a person of first-class importance. She displayed perfect tact and self-control in dealing with the terrified old men and women, and no one would have given her credit for such generalship. But the hour had come for Miss Bull to assert herself, and she proved to be equal to the occasion.

      "Now, then," said the inspector, when he had posted his men and was alone with Miss Bull in the drawing-room, "what do you know of this?"

      Miss Bull, her face white and drawn, her eyes sharper than ever, and her manner perfectly composed, shook her head. "I know absolutely nothing," she said in her monotonous voice. "Last night we had our usual reception, but it broke up at ten o'clock. Madame dismissed the guests at that hour, and stood in the doorway to do so. I retired to my bedroom with Madame's niece, and after a game of 'Patience' I went to bed."

      "Does Mrs. Jersey's niece sleep with you?"

      "Margery? No! She sleeps in a room above. It was a few minutes to eleven when she left me. I was in bed shortly after the clock struck the hour. I am sure Margery had nothing to do with it. She was quite devoted to her aunt, and as the poor girl has no money, I don't know how she will live now that Madame is dead."

      The inspector thought for a moment. He was a tall, thin man, rather military in appearance, and with a wooden, expressionless face, which he found of great service in hiding his thoughts when examining those he suspected. He certainly did not suspect Miss Bull, and seemed inclined to make her his coadjutor. In proof of this he made her accompany him to the room wherein Mrs. Jersey lay dead.

      "It's not far from the front door," mused Inspector Quex. "Could any one have entered?"

      "No, I am sure of that," put in Miss Bull, emphatically. "Madame always locked the front door every night herself and kept the key. It could not be opened in the morning until she chose."

      "Who opened it this morning?"

      "I did. I knew that the key would be in Madame's pocket."

      "And it was?"

      "Yes. She must have locked the door as usual, and then have gone to put the light out in her sitting-room before going upstairs."

      "Was that before eleven?"

      "I can't say. I did not leave my room after ten. But Margery may have seen some one as she went up to her bedroom when she left me."

      "I'll question the girl," said Quex, and entered the sitting-room.

      It was of no great size, with one window, which looked out onto the square. This was locked, and, even if it had not been, no one could have climbed in, as Quex saw that the area was below. "And Madame chained the area gate every night with her own hands," explained Miss Bull, who was watching him.

      The inspector turned suddenly toward her. "It seems to me that the deceased was over-cautious. Was she afraid?"

      "I think she was," admitted Miss Bull. "She had a habit of looking over her shoulder, and, as I have stated, was particular as to bolts and bars. But she was a secretive woman, and never said anything to me about her fears, if she had any."

      "Were you great friends?"

      "No," replied the old maid, bluntly, "we were not. Madame behaved in an extremely rude manner, and had she lived I should have given her notice. I never liked her," added Miss Bull, with feminine spite.

      "You'll be all the more likely to speak the truth then," said Quex, cynically, and turned to examine the body.

      Madame was still in the black-silk dress which she wore on the previous night. Seated at the round center-table, she had evidently been struck from behind, and killed before she had time to cry out. Her arms were on the table, and her head had fallen forward. The furniture of the room was not in disorder, the red table-cloth was not even ruffled. The murder had been committed without haste or noise, as Quex pointed out to Miss Bull.

      "Whosoever murdered her must have been a friend," said he.

      "It doesn't seem a friendly act to kill a defenseless woman," said Miss Bull, looking coldly on the limp figure.

      "You don't quite understand. What I mean is that Mrs. Jersey knew the person who killed her."

      Miss Bull shook her head. "I don't agree with you," she observed, and Quex was astonished that she should dare to contradict. "She was struck from behind, before she had time to turn her head."

      "Quite so. But the assassin must have entered the room, and unless the deceased was deaf-"

      "Madame had particularly sharp ears."

      "Then that makes it all the more certain. Had any one unexpected entered she would have been on the alert; there would have been a struggle. Now we see that the furniture is not disturbed, therefore we can argue from this that Mrs. Jersey was in friendly conversation with the assassin. She was seated at the table, and the assassin was at her back, which shows a certain amount of trust. In fact, Miss Bull, the person who committed this murder was the last person Mrs. Jersey expected to hurt her in any way."

      "She had no enemies that I knew of."

      "I talk rather of friends," said Quex, coolly. "You have not been listening to my argument."

      "Oh, I quite understand. But I don't fancy that Madame had any friends either. She was a woman who kept very much to herself."

      "Do you know anything of her past?"

      "Absolutely nothing. She took this house some fourteen or fifteen years ago,