You remember that
Lewisham gang of burglars?"
"What, the three Randalls?"
"Exactly; the father and two sons. It's their work.
I have not a doubt of it. They did a job at Sydenham a
fortnight ago, and were seen and described. Rather cool
to do another so soon and so near, but it is they,
beyond all doubt. It's a hanging matter this time."
"Sir Eustace is dead, then?"
"Yes; his head was knocked in with his own poker."
"Sir Eustace Brackenstall, the driver tells me."
"Exactly -- one of the richest men in Kent.
Lady Brackenstall is in the morning-room. Poor lady,
she has had a most dreadful experience. She seemed half
dead when I saw her first. I think you had best see her
and hear her account of the facts. Then we will examine
the dining-room together."
Lady Brackenstall was no ordinary person. Seldom have I seen
so graceful a figure, so womanly a presence, and so beautiful
a face. She was a blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and would,
no doubt, have had the perfect complexion which goes with such
colouring had not her recent experience left her drawn and
haggard. Her sufferings were physical as well as mental, for
over one eye rose a hideous, plum-coloured swelling, which her
maid, a tall, austere woman, was bathing assiduously with
vinegar and water.
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