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Spizey moved ponderously into the box in all the glory of his time-honoured livery. He looked very big, and very consequential, and unusually glum. Meeking, who was not a Hathelsborough man, glanced quizzingly at Spizey's grandeur and at the cocked hat which Spizey placed on the ledge before him. "Er you're some sort of a Corporation official, aren't you, Spizey?" he suggested.
"Did he say why he wanted to go into the church?" "Yes, to write out a hinscription for a London gent as wanted it." "Did you give him the keys?" "I did." "Did you see him go into the church?" "Yes, and hear him lock himself inside it." "Did he eventually bring the keys back?" "Not to me. My missis." Meeking waved Spizey's magnificence aside and called for Mrs. Spizey. Mrs.
"About seven o'clock of the evening on which Wallingford was murdered, I called at Spizey's cottage in St. Lawrence churchyard and got the keys of the church from him, on the excuse that I wanted to copy an inscription. I locked myself into the church, and went up to the chamber in the tower.
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