“That you told me!” I said. “Nothing could tear it from me.”
“I did hear something, Becky.”
“Did you?” I asked, with a smile which was intended to invite complete confidence.
“Yes, Becky.”
“What was it?”
“Two voices—as if there was a quarrel going on—a quarrel, Becky, eh?”
“Ah!” said I, “it is a good job you kept it to yourself. The detectives, and the magistrates, and the lawyers would have put you to no end of trouble. Were they men’s voices?”
“Yes, men’s voices.”
“It was put in the papers,” I said, “that there was a scream. Mrs. Preedy, downstairs, heard that, but she could not say whether it was from a man or a woman.”
“I heard it, too, Becky. It was a man—I could swear to it. Why, if you lie on this bed, with your head to the wall, and it’s quiet as it was then, you can hear almost everything that goes on in the next house. Try it, Becky.”