"All right. Show her in."
Barker made a movement as if to go, but subsided again, and there was silence while the two men waited for the new arrival. Barker was lounging slightly in front of Grant's desk, and Grant was behind it, his left hand caressing the handle of the drawer that sheltered the brooch. Then the door opened, and the constable ushered in the visitor with an official repetition of his announcement, "A lady to see you, sir."
It was the fat woman from the queue.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. - Wallis." Grant recalled her name with an effort; he had not seen her since the inquest. "What can I do for you?"
"Good afternoon, Inspector," she said, in her rampant Cockney. "I came because I think this business has gone far enough. I killed Bert Sorrell, and I'm not going to let any one suffer for it if I can 'elp it."
"You — " said Grant, and stopped, staring at her fat shining face, beady eyes, tight black satin coat, and black satin toque.
Barker glanced at his subordinate and, seeing him utterly at a loss — really, Grant must have a holiday — he took command of the situation. "Sit down, Mrs. - Wallis," he said kindly. "You've been thinking too much about this affair, haven't you?" He brought forward a chair and settled her into it rather as though she had come to consult him about heartburn. "It isn't good to brood over nasty things like murders. What makes you think you killed Sorrell?"
"I don't think," she said rather tartly. "I didn't make any doubt about it, did I? A very good job it was."
"Well, well," said Barker indulgently, "let us say how do we know you did it?"
"How do you know?" she repeated. "What do you mean? You didn't know till now, but now I've told you and you know."