"What with?"
"Why, I just struck out. But I had my skates in my hand and I guess I hit him, because he let go of my arm. Then I ran as hard as I could."
The physician's testimony at the inquest flashed across Lyon's mind,--"a heavy instrument with a cutting edge." Kitty's skate and not Lawrence's cane! The relief was so great that he almost forgot the necessity of establishing all the links. But Miss Rose was approaching, and he knew he must lose no time.
"How was he dressed, Kittie?"
"Goodness! I didn't stop to see."
"But in dark clothes or light? Did he wear a hat?"
"He had a long loose grey coat, and a hat pulled away down over his eyes. And a silk muffler around his throat was pulled up over his chin. That came off in my hand when I pushed him away. I didn't know I had it until I had run half a block. Then I threw it in the street."
Lyon nodded. "I found it. Now, Kittie, I want you to come and show me the exact spot on Sherman Street where this happened."
Her face was already flushed and her breath coming fast with her recital, but she now looked annoyed at his persistence.
"I can't. Miss Rose is waiting for me now. And besides,--" she hesitated to impugn his chivalry by so unworthy a suggestion, but needs must,--"you aren't going to tell?"