"Well, well; no matter about that. You have been in Mr. Leavenworth’s family a year?"
"Yes, sir."
"And liked it? found him a good master?"
"Och, sir, niver have I found a better, worse luck to the villain as killed him. He was that free and ginerous, sir, that many’s the time I have said to Hannah—" She stopped, with a sudden comical gasp of terror, looking at her fellow-servants like one who had incautiously made a slip. The coroner, observing this, inquired hastily:
"Hannah? Who is Hannah?"
The cook, drawing her roly-poly figure up into some sort of shape in her efforts to appear unconcerned, exclaimed boldly: "She? Oh, only the ladies’ maid, sir."
"But I don’t see any one here answering to that description. You did n’t speak of any one by the name of Hannah, as belonging to the house," said he, turning to Thomas.
"No, sir," the latter replied, with a bow and a sidelong look at the red-cheeked girl at his side. "You asked me who were in the house at the time the murder was discovered, and I told you."
"Oh," cried the coroner, satirically; "used to police courts, I see." Then, turning back to the cook, who had all this while been rolling her eyes in a vague fright about the room, inquired, "And where is this Hannah?"
"Shure, sir, she’s gone."
"How long since?"
The cook caught her breath hysterically. "Since last night."
"What time last night?"
