"That? Oh, that was Mrs. Marley," replied the saloon-keeper, with the air of a man relieved to be questioned on a point upon which he could answer freely at last.
"And who is Mrs. Marley?"
"The woman what lives on the top flure of the house in the rear; she passed through by way of the store, as she often does."
"What sort of a person is she?"
"Faix, an' ye'd better ax hersilf; I've as much as I can do to attind to me own concerns. She lives all alone by hersilf, pays her rint promptly, and goes an' comes whin she likes. The neighbors say she's mad, and mebbe she is—it's no business at all of mine."
"Show me her room," said Caleb Hook, abruptly. "I'll question her for myself."
"Well, then, go through the back dure, cross the yard, and you see a house in the rear—"
"I shall do nothing of the sort. You will go ahead and show me the way to this woman's room. Come, be lively, I've no time to waste."
The saloon-keeper hesitated for an instant, and then moved towards the room beyond.
That the detective was a man not to be trifled with he now fully realized.