er way to work. They had seen the two milk wagons in front of
the jewelry store--the store which, though most of the more valuable
pieces were in the safe--still showed in the gleaming windows much that
caught the eye of the passerby. Some one sensed the unusual. Some one
stopped--then another. Some one had caught sight, on peering into the
store, of the prostrate figure with that blotch of red in the white
hair.

The crowd, increasing each minute, pressed against the still locked
front doors. Those in the van flattened their noses against the glass
in grotesque fashion.

"Hurry and get the police!" begged Darcy.

Casey was about to telephone, when Tremlain, who had gone out into the
alley from the side door, hurried back to report:

"Here comes a cop now. Saw the crowd I guess. We can just tell him
what we saw, Casey, and then slide along. I'm late as it is."

"So'm I!"

The policeman, his heavy-soled shoes creaking importantly, came along
the street, hurrying not in the least. He knew whatever it was would
keep for him.

"What's the row?" demanded Patrolman Mulligan.

"Looks like the old lady was murdered," Casey answered. "I was just
going to telephone to headquarters." He told briefly what he knew,
which was corroborated by Tremlain, then the two left to cover their
routes, after giving their addresses to the policeman.

The crowd grew larger. From outside it looked like a convention of
umbrellas. The rain still drizzled and turned to steam and mist as it
warmed on the many bodies in the throng--a mist that mingled with that
of the rain itself. In spite of the storm, the crowd grew and
remained. Those who might be late at bench, lathe or loom unheeded the
passing of time. It was not every day they could be so close to a
murder.

The crowd filled the entire space in front of the jewelry store. The
bolder spirits rattled the knob of the locked portals, and tapped on
the glass that was now misty and grimy from hands and noses pressed
against it. The crowd began to surge into the alley, whence a side
door gave entrance into Mrs. Darcy's place. Some even ventured to
press into the store itself--the store where the silent figure lay
huddled between the showcases.

"Now then slide out of here--take a walk!" advised Mulligan, as he
shoved out some of the men and boys who had entered. "Get out! You
can read all about it in the papers. The reporters'll be here soon
enough," he added with a