"Well," said the delicatessen dealer, reluctantly, "last night as I stood by my window looking oudside on the street, I see me that Italian feller go by und turn in at the side door; a second lader I hear him go up the steps to Hume's place."
"What Italian fellow do you refer to?"
"He lifs close by me, a few doors away. His name is Spatola, und he plays the violin the gurb-stones beside."
"What time was it that you saw him?"
"Maybe elefen o'clock. I am not sure. But it was just a little while before I got me the rush of customers from the theaters."
"Did you notice his manner? Was there anything unusual in his looks?"
"I had me only a glimbs of him. He looked about the same as effer. He was in a hurry, for it rained a liddle; und under his coat yet he carried his fiddle."
"If it was under his coat, how do you know it was his fiddle?"
The German scratched his head in a reflective way.
"I don't know it," said he at last. "But he somedimes takes his instrument inside there, und I just get the notion that it was so. Yes?"