etter stay around till the Coroner comes.
He'll be here soon. You, and this other woman too."

By other woman he meant _me_, Miss Butterworth, of Colonial ancestry and
no inconsiderable importance in the social world. But though I did not
relish this careless association of myself with this poor scrub-woman,
I was careful to show no displeasure, for I reasoned that as witnesses
we were equal before the law, and that it was solely in this light he
regarded us.

There was something in the manner of both these gentlemen which
convinced me that while my presence was considered desirable in the
house, it was not especially wanted in the room. I was therefore moving
reluctantly away, when I felt a slight but peremptory touch on the arm,
and turning, saw the detective at my side, still studying his piece of
china.

He was, as I have said, of portly build and benevolent aspect; a
fatherly-looking man, and not at all the person one would be likely to
associate with the police. Yet he could take the lead very naturally,
and when he spoke, I felt bound to answer him.

"Will you be so good, madam, as to relate over again, what you saw from
your window last night? I am likely to have charge of this matter, and
would be pleased to hear all you may have to say concerning it."

"My name is Butterworth," I politely intimated.

"And my name is Gryce."

"A detective?"

"The same."

"You must think this matter very serious," I ventured.

"Death by violence is always serious."

"You must regard this death as something more than an accident, I mean."

His smile seemed to say: "You will not know to-day how I regard it."

"And you will not know to-day what I think of it either," was my inward
rejoinder, but I said nothing aloud, for the man was seventy-five if he
was a day, and I have been taught respect for age, and have practised
the same for fifty years and more.

I must have shown what was passing in my mind, and he must have seen it
reflected on the polished surface of the porcelain he was contemplating,
for his lips showed the shadow of a smile sufficiently sarcastic for me
to see that he was far from being as easy-natured as his countenance
indicated.

"Come, come," said he, "there is the Coroner now. Say what you have to
say, like the straightforward, honest woman you appear."

"I don't like compliments," I snapped out. Indeed, they have always been
obnoxious to me. As if there was any merit in being honest and
str