is there--who could there be that wanted to see Crone's dead body? Let's
try to find that out."

I made no answer--but I was beginning to think; and to wonder, too, in a
vague, not very pleasant fashion. Was this--was Crone's death, murder,
whatever it was--at all connected with the previous affair of Phillips?
Had Crone told me the truth that night I went to buy the stuff for Tom
Dunlop's rabbit-hutches? or had he kept something back? And while I was
reflecting on these points, Mr. Lindsey began talking again.

"I watched that man closely when he was giving me his account of what
happened," he said, "and, as I said just now, I believe he told us the
truth. Whoever it was that did Crone to death, he's not in that cell,
Hugh, my lad; and, unless I'm much mistaken, all this is of a piece with
Phillips's murder. But let's hear what this Irishwoman has to say."

Crone's cottage was a mean, miserable shanty sort of place down a narrow
alley in a poor part of the town. When we reached its door there was a
group of women and children round it, all agog with excitement. But the
door itself was closed, and it was not opened to us until Nance Maguire's
face had appeared at the bit of a window, and Nance had assured herself
of the identity of her visitors. And when she had let us in, she shut the
door once more and slipped a bolt into its socket.

"I an't said a word, your honour," said she, "since your honour told me
not to, though them outside is sharp on me to tell 'em this and that. And
I wouldn't have said what I did up yonder had I known your honour would
be for supporting me. I was feeling there wasn't a soul in the place
would see justice done for him that's gone--the poor, good man!"

"If you want justice, my good woman," remarked Mr. Lindsey, "keep your
tongue quiet, and don't talk to your neighbours, nor to the police--just
keep anything you know till I tell you to let it out. Now, then, what's
this you were saying?--that Crone told you there was a man in the place
would give his two eyes to see him a corpse?"

"Them very words, your honour; and not once nor twice, but a good many
times did he say it," replied the woman. "It was a sort of hint he was
giving me, your honour--he had that way of speaking."

"Since when did he give you such hints?" asked Mr. Lindsey. "Was it
only lately?"

"It was since that other bloody murder, your honour," said Nance Maguire.
"Only since then. He would talk of it as we sat over t