I was present at the time, and my heart went out in pity to the pale-faced woman—or perhaps I should say girl, for she certainly had not seen her twentieth birthday.
She disappeared into the inner room where the body was lying, and a few seconds later I heard a low and anguished cry. Then I knew that she had recognized the poor fellow as some one who was near and dear to her.
Kindly hands drew her away from beside the body, and when I saw her again her face was convulsed with anguish, and tears were streaming from her eyes.
For fully half an hour she continued weeping, and not a man of us was there who did not feel uncomfortable. We did not venture to console her, for it seemed like sacrilege to intrude on her during the first period of her sorrow.
Then her sobbing became less loud, and gradually she subdued the more demonstrative expressions of grief.
She finally lifted her head, and in a hollow voice asked to hear the story of his death.
The captain briefly outlined what was known, and she calmly listened to the tale.
"Can I see the person who first reached him?" she asked, when the captain had finished.
"Yes," was the reply. "Detective Howard here is the man you want."
She wished to see me alone, and I conducted her into another room.