"Why it is just like that East End tragedy. I forget the name—when a woman—no, a man, was taken away dead in a box."
"This is a serious accusation," said Mrs. Wilcox, after a time of digestive silence, "and it doesn't seem to me to be proved."
"Doesn't it?" enquired the medical woman indignantly. "Well, I presume you'll believe it when you see the poor creature dead before you, and are called on to identify her remains, as I have no doubt you will be."
"But Miss Prudence is really so gentle; besides, what motive could she have for killing her sister?"
"Gentle? A woman—a hypocrite like that, with her baby-farmers and detectives after her? Don't tell me! And as for motives, it seems plain enough that she may have had several that we cannot guess at. Mary tells me the Semaphores had a violent quarrel about a fortnight ago, and probably that decided her."
"Oh, they often quarrelled. Poor Miss Semaphore, you know, was trying enough at times, but Miss Prudence never bore malice."
"Oh, Mrs. Wilcox, it seems to me you think she is a plaster saint, and if so, there is no use my saying anything more—but I warn you. Time will tell."
