"Something to read about in one's morning papers."
"I shall try and get reserved seats for the trial. I hate a crush, don't you?"
"Will they hang him, do you think?"
"If he is found guilty—English justice is no respecter of persons."
"How awful."
And tittle-tattle, senseless talk, inane remarks, were wafted on the grimy wings of the fog. They penetrated everywhere, in the lobbies of the theatres, the boudoir of madame and the smoking room of my lord. They penetrated to the magnificent reception rooms of the Danish Legation, and Louisa heard the remarks even before she knew the full details of the story. Louisa had a well-trained contralto voice, and had been asked to sing, in the course of the evening. Just as she stood in an outer room selecting her music, she heard a group of idlers—men and women—talking over the mysterious murder in the taxicab.
They had at first been unconscious of her presence. She had her back toward them, turning over the leaves of of her song. Suddenly there was a hush in the conversation; one of the chatterboxes must have pointed her out to the others.
Whereupon Louisa, serene and smiling, a roll of music in her hand, joined the merry group.
"Please," she said, "don't stop. I have heard nothing yet. And of course I want to know."
One of the men laughed inanely and the ladies murmured silly nothings.