t for one wild moment that
Sarah herself was an accomplice in the horrible design. She grasped it
at a glance, much quicker than I had done, and it seemed to shock her
very much less. I snatched up one of the candles--they were pinned in
place with black-headed toilet pins--and I lit the gas with it before
stalking through the shavings and setting a careful foot upon the rest
in turn.

When I had extinguished the last of them, I turned to find my innocent
old suspect snivelling on the threshold, and nodding her gay plume more
emphatically than ever.

"'Ow awful!" she ejaculated in hushed tones. "Madness, I call it.
Setting fire to a nice 'ouse like this! But there, he's been getting
queer for a long time. I've often said so--to myself, you know, sir--I
wouldn't say it to nobody else. That burgular business was the
beginning."

"Well, Sarah," I said, "he's got so queer that we must think what's to
be done, and think quickly, and do it double-quick! But I shall be
obliged if you'll stick to your excellent rule of not talking to
outsiders. We've had scenes enough at Witching Hill, without this
getting about."

"Oh! I shan't say a word, sir," said Sarah, solemnly. "Even pore Mr.
Nettleton, he shall never know from _me_ how I found him out!"

I could hardly believe my ears. "Good God, woman! Do you dream of
spending another night under this maniac's roof?"

"Why, of course I do, sir," cried old Sarah, bridling. "Who's to look
after him, if I go away and leave him, I should like to know? The very
idea!"

"I'll see that he's looked after," said I, grimly, and went and bolted
the front door, lest he should return before I had decided on my
tactics.

In the few seconds that my back was turned, Sarah seemed to have
acquired yet another new and novel point of view. I found the old
heroine almost gloating over her master's dreadful handiwork.

"Well, there, I never did see anything so artful! Him at his theatre, to
come home and look on at the fire, and me at my concert, safe and sound
as if I was at church! Oh, he'd see to that, sir; he wouldn't've done it
if he 'adn't've arranged to put me out of 'arm's way. That's Mr.
Nettleton, every inch. Not that I say it was a right thing to do, sir,
even with the 'ouse empty as it is. But what can you expect when a pore
gentleman goes out of 'is 'ead? There's not many would care what
'appened to nobody else! But the artfulness of 'im: in another minute
the whole 'ouse might've