"Seen 'em—yes," replied the policeman. "Two quiet little fellows—seen 'em often—generally of an evening."
"Have you seen anything of them lately?" asked Ayscough.
"Well, now I come to think of it, no, I haven't," answered the policeman. "Not for some days."
"Have you noticed that the house was shut up—that there were no lights in the front windows?" enquired the detective.
"Why, as a matter of fact, Mr. Ayscough," said the policeman, "you never do see any lights here—the windows are shuttered. I know that, because I used to give a look round when the house was empty."
"Do you know what servants they kept—these two?" asked Ayscough.
"They kept none!" answered the policeman. "Seems to me—from what bit I saw, you know—they used the house for little more than sleeping in. I've seen 'em go out of a morning, with books and papers under their arms, and come home at night—similar. But there's no servants there. Anything wrong, Mr. Ayscough?"
Ayscough moved toward the bushes.
"There's this much wrong," he answered. "There's one of 'em lying dead behind those laurels with a knife thrust through his throat! And I should say, from the look of things, that he's been lying there several days. Look here!"
The policeman looked—and beyond a sharp exclamation, remained stolid. He glanced at his companions,
