pray?" she inquired incredulously in a thin, croaking voice.
"Well—you would prefer me as friend, rather than enemy, I suppose?" was my meaning reply.
She had hastily swept up the bundle of notes and replaced them in her shabby bag.
"I don't know you, sir," said the old woman, "and, moreover, I don't want to know you."
"Probably not—because I could blow this whistle and give you at once into custody," I said with a dry laugh.
The old woman's eyes narrowed perceptibly, and she started at my words.
"This house is a house of secrets," I went on, "and the police are extremely anxious to discover what really happened here one night about three weeks ago. They are still in ignorance—but I alone know."
"You know!" gasped the woman, staring at me.
"Yes. I know that a certain young man found in this place did not shoot himself. He was enticed here—and then delberately murdered. Madam, I give you and your friends due credit for a wonderful astuteness and knowledge. The whole plot was really remark-
