"Cuss 'em!" croaked Mother Guttersnipe, drowsily, "I'll tear their 'earts out."
"I think I must have gone mad, I must," said Sal, pushing her tangled hair off her forehead, "for arter I left the Chiner cove, I went on walkin' and walkin' right into the bush, a-tryin' to cool my 'ead, for it felt on fire like. I went into a river an' got wet, an' then I took my 'at an' boots orf an' lay down on the grass, an' then the rain comed on, an' I walked to a 'ouse as was near, where they tooked me in. Oh, sich kind people," she sobbed, stretching out her hands, "that didn't badger me 'bout my soul, but gave me good food to eat. I gave 'em a wrong name. I was so 'fraid of that Army a-findin' me. Then I got ill, an' knowd nothin' for weeks. They said I was orf my chump. An' then I came back 'ere to see gran'."
"Cuss ye," said the old woman, but in such a tender tone that it sounded like a blessing.
"And did the people who took you in never tell you anything about the murder?" asked Calton.
Sal shook her head.
"No, it were a long way in the country, and they never knowd anythin', they didn't."
"Ah! that explains it," muttered Calton to himself.
"Come, now," he said cheerfully, "tell me all that happened on the night you brought Mr. Fitzgerald to see the 'Queen.'"
"Who's 'e?" asked Sal, puzzled.
"Mr. Fitzgerald, the gentleman you brought the letter for to the Melbourne Club."