"Oh, I see! Darcy's! She's killed you say?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Accident?"
"I don't know. Looks to me more like murder!"
The milkman whistled, set his collection of bottles back in his wagon, and hurried with Darcy toward the store. The other man, bringing his rattling vehicle to a stop, followed.
"Where is she?" whispered Casey, as soon as he reached the side of his business rival, Tremlain.
"On the floor—right in the middle—between the showcases," answered
Darcy, and he, too, whispered. It seemed the right thing to do.
"There—see her!"
He pointed a trembling finger.
"Lord! Her head's smashed!" exclaimed Casey. "Look at the blood!"
"I—I don't want to look at it," murmured Darcy, faintly.