“Look here, Walter!” she cried.
Her companion quickly came to her side.
“My husband is dead!” cried the woman; “basely murdered, and there,” pointing fiercely to Carl, “there stands the murderer!”
“Madam, you cannot believe this!” said Carl, naturally agitated.
“What have you to say for yourself?” demanded the man, suspiciously.
“I only just saw—your husband,” continued Carl, addressing himself to the woman. “I had finished my meal, when I began to search for some one whom I could pay, and so opened this door into the room beyond, when I saw—him hanging there!”
“Don’t believe him, the red-handed murderer!” broke out the woman, fiercely. “He is probably a thief; he killed my poor husband, and then sat down like a cold-blooded villain that he is, and gorged himself.”
Things began to look very serious for poor Carl.
“Your husband is larger and stronger than myself,” he urged, desperately. “How could I overpower him?”
“It looks reasonable, Maria,” said the man. “I don’t see how the boy could have killed Mr. Brown, or lifted him upon the hook, even if he did not resist.”