Mrs. Basket snorted in a disbelieving manner.
"Oh, wouldn't she, sir? You don't know the hussies women are. That Mrs. Moxton's a deep 'un as ever was."
"Here," cried Cass, rummaging about for his cap, "I'm losing time. I must go for the police at once."
"Come back and tell me if they takes her," shouted Mrs. Basket after him with morbid glee. "I believe she's done it with the carving-knife."
But Cass did not hear her, as the wind was high and he was already some distance away. As he sped along the silent streets storm-clouds were racing across the face of a watery moon, and a drizzle of rain moistened his face. Being a reporter, Cass was friendly with constables, and knew the station at Dukesfield well, having often gone there to glean paragraphs. This time he went to give more terrible and sensational news than he had ever received, and stumbled almost into Inspector Drake's arms in his haste.
"Steady there," said Drake, gruffly, then recognising the agitated face of Cass in the flaring gaslight, he added, in a tone of surprise: "You, sir; whatever's come over you at this time of night?"
"Drake, there has been a murder at Myrtle Villa down the Jubilee Road, leading to the brickfields. A man called Moxton has been stabbed. His wife came for Dr. Ellis, and I ran on to tell you!"
The inspector heard this startling intelligence with a phlegm begotten by twenty years' experience of similar reports. "Who done it, Mr. Cass? Does the wife know?"
"No; she says she heard a cry, and ran out to find her husband dying on the garden path. He died in her arms."
"Did she see anyone about?"