'Very good, Miss Whichello, ma'am; you shall see it.'
'And you'll not mention that I came here, Mr Inspector.'
'I give you my word, ma'am—the word of a soldier. This way, Miss Whichello, this way.'
Following the rigid figure of the inspector, the little old lady was conducted by him to a small building of galvanised tin in the rear of the police-station. Several idlers were hanging about, amongst them being Miss Bell Mosk, who was trying to persuade a handsome young policeman to gratify her morbid curiosity. Her eyes opened to their widest width when she recognised Miss Whichello's silk cloak and poke bonnet, and saw them vanish into the dead-house.
'Well I never!' said Miss Mosk. 'I never thought she'd be fond of corpses at her time of life, seeing as she'll soon be one herself.'
The little old lady and the inspector remained within for five or six minutes. When they came out the tears were falling fast beneath Miss Whichello's veil.
'Is that the man?' asked Tinkler, in a low voice.
'Yes!' replied Miss Whichello; 'that is the man I knew as Amaru.'