Mrs. Parrot giving her moral organisation a twist, ran out. Scarcely had she opened the door when in burst Martha, the servant from over the way.
“Oh, missis! oh, missis!” she screeched, “what do you think? Master’s drowned! O Lord! Where’s Mrs. Conway? He’s dead an’ gone! Here’s the gent as brought the noos. Oh, sir, please tell the missis here!”
She turned, and in her excitement caught hold of the sleeve of a little stout man who stood behind, and literally dragged him forward.
“Let go, you fool! What are you a doing of? Are you Mrs. Conway?” he asked of Mrs. Parrot, who stood staring with wide-open eyes, grasping her dress as if she were only waiting to take a deep breath before tearing herself in two.
“No, she ain’t! This ain’t Mrs. Conway!” cried the excited Martha.
“You told me she was here!” exclaimed the man.
“So she is; ain’t she, missis?”
“Great ’iven! what a clatterin’!” cried Mrs. Parrot, recovering her tongue. “What is it you’ve got to say, sir?”
“Why, this,” answered the little man, who was evidently a very irritable little man—“Mr. Conway’s body was found in the river this morning at a quarter before seven, and he’s lying now in the Town Hall, and I’ve come to give the news; and curse me if ever I’ll undertake such a job again, if I am to be mauled about by such a fool as this when I’m out of breath, and fit to drop with perspiration.”