"In connection with whom?"
"Mr. Whyte, of course," she answered hurriedly.
"And who else?"
"I don't know."
"Then there is nobody else?"
"Well, I don't know—I'm not sure."
The detective was puzzled.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I will tell you all I know," said Mrs. Hableton, "an' if 'e's innocent, God will 'elp 'im."
"If who is innocent?"
"I'll tell you everythin' from the start," said Mrs. Hableton, "an' you can judge for yourself."
Mr. Gorby assented, and she began:
"It's only two months ago since I decided to take in lodgers; but chorin's 'ard work, and sewin's tryin' for the eyes. So, bein' a lone woman, 'avin been badly treated by a brute, who is now dead, which I was allays a good wife to 'im, I thought lodgers 'ud 'elp me a little; so I put a notice in the paper, an' Mr. Oliver Whyte took the rooms two months ago."
"What was he like?"
"Not very tall, dark face, no whiskers nor mustache, an' quite the gentleman."
"Anything peculiar about him?"
Mrs. Hableton thought for a moment.
"Well," she said at length, "he 'ad a mole on his left temple, but it was covered with 'is 'air, an' a few people 'ud 'ave seen it."
"The very man," said Gorby to himself, "I'm on the right path."
"Mr. Whyte said 'e 'ad just come from England," went on the woman.
"Which," murmured Mr. Gorby, "accounts for the corpse not being recognized by friends."
"He took the rooms, said 'e'd stay with me for six months, an' paid a week's rent in advance, an' 'e allays paid up reg'ler like a respectable man, tho' I don't believe in 'em myself. He said 'e'd lots of friends, an' used to go out every night."
"Who were his friends?"
"That I can't tell you, for 'e were very close, an' when
