fine to-do in the street before its door. The news of the arrest
had spread quickly, and folk had come running to get more particulars.
And amongst the women and children and loafers that were crowding around
was Crone's housekeeper, a great, heavy, rough-haired Irishwoman called
Nance Maguire, and she was waving her big arms and shaking her fists at a
couple of policemen, whom she was adjuring to bring out the murderer, so
that she might do justice on him then and there--all this being mingled
with encomiums on the victim.

"The best man that ever lived!" she was screaming at the top of her
voice. "The best and kindest creature ever set foot in your murdering
town! And didn't I know he was to be done to death by some of ye? Didn't
he tell me himself that there was one would give his two eyes to be
seeing his corpse? And if ye've laid hands on him that did it, bring him
out to me, so, and I'll--"

Mr. Lindsey laid a quiet hand on the woman's arm and twisted her round in
the direction of her cottage.

"Hold your wisht, good wife, and go home!" he whispered to her. "And if
you know anything, keep your tongue still till I come to see you. Be
away, now, and leave it to me."

I don't know how it was, but Nance Maguire, after a sharp look at Mr.
Lindsey, turned away as meekly as a lamb, and went off, tearful enough,
but quiet, down the street, followed by half the rabble, while Mr.
Lindsey, Chisholm, and myself turned into the police-station. And there
we met Mr. Murray, who wagged his head at us as if he were very well
satisfied with something.

"Not much doubt about this last affair, anyhow," said he, as he took us
into his office. "You might say the man was caught red-handed! All the
same, Mr. Lindsey, he's in his rights to ask for a lawyer, and you can
see him whenever you like."

"What are the facts?" asked Mr. Lindsey. "Let me know that much first."

Mr. Murray jerked his thumb at Chisholm.

"The sergeant there knows them," he answered. "He took the man."

"It was this way, d'ye see, Mr. Lindsey," said Chisholm, who was becoming
an adept at putting statements before people. "You know that bit of a
public there is along the river yonder, outside the wall--the Cod and
Lobster? Well, James Macfarlane, that keeps it, he came to me, maybe an
hour or so ago, and said there was a fellow, a stranger, had been in and
out there all day since morning, drinking; and though he wouldn't say the
man was what you'd rightly ca