"Of what?" asked Lucian sharply.
"Of the murder!" wept Mrs. Bensusan, now dissolved in tears. "Rhoda said——"
"I don't want to hear what Rhoda said," interrupted Lucian impatiently, "and I am not accusing you of the murder. But—your house is at the back of No. 13."
"Yes," replied Mrs. Bensusan, weeping like a Niobe.
"And a fence divides your yard from that of No. 13?"
"I won't contradict you, sir—it do."
"And there is a passage leading from Jersey Street into your yard?"
"There is, Mr. Denzil; it's useful for the trades-people."
"And I daresay useful to others," said Lucian drily. "Now, Mrs. Bensusan, do you know if any lady was in the habit of passing through that passage at night?"