She arose briskly and also entered the inner room. Stillman seated himself at a desk and carefully perched his glasses upon his nose.
"I perhaps take more trouble than is customary in these cases," he said to Ashton-Kirk. "It is usual to hear statements, I believe, only when they are proffered as testimony at the inquest. But it seems to me that the office should be carried on in a more thorough way. Preparation, I think, is necessary to get at the facts."
Then he faced the woman who had taken a chair beside the desk.
"Your full name, please," said he.
"Honora Dwyer. I'm a widow with four children; I live at 71 Cormant Street, an' me husban' has been dead these three years," declared she, in a breath.
Stillman smiled.
"You don't believe in keeping anything back, Mrs. Dwyer, I can see that," said he. "And a very good trait it is." He leaned back in his swivel chair and looked at her through the glasses. "You are the person who discovered the body of Mr. Hume, are you not?"
"Yes, sir, I were," replied Mrs. Dwyer; "and God spare me such another sight."
"Tell us about it," said the coroner.
"I work as scrub woman for a good many in Christie Place an' the immejeat neighborhood," said Mrs. Dwyer, genteelly. "But I always gets to Mr. Hume's first."