After a full moment, the woman said:
“I ain’t onduhstan’, Boss. Nobody hyuh ain’t kill Crown. My husban’ he fall t’rough dat winduh yisterday when he leg gib ’way. He er cripple.”
“Any one see him do it?” enquired the Coroner from the door.
“Oh, yes, Boss,” replied Bess, turning to him. “T’ree or four ob de mens was in de street; dey will tell yuh all ’bout um.”
“Yes, of course; more witnesses,” sneered the detective. Then turning to the Coroner, he asked with a trace of sarcasm in his tone:
“That satisfies you fully, I suppose?”
The Coroner’s nerves were becoming edgy.
“For God’s sake,” he retorted, “do you expect me to believe that a cripple could kill a two-hundred pound buck, then tote him a hundred yards? Well, I’ve got what I need now anyway. As far as I’m concerned, I’m through.”
They were passing the door of Maria’s shop when the detective caught sight of something within that held his gaze.
“You can do as you please,” he told his unwilling companion. “But I’m going to have a look in here. I have never been able to get anything on this woman; but she is a bad influence in the neighborhood. I’d trust her just as far as I could throw her.”