Just when it was that her troubled thoughts were succeeded by even more troubled dreams she was not aware, but it was noon the next day when she was awakened by the maid bringing in her breakfast tray.
“Terrible, Miss Jane, wasn’t it,” said the servant, “about that suicide last night, almost under our noses, you might say.”
“Suicide!” cried the girl, at once wide-awake and interested “What suicide?”
“A man was found dead in the side street right by our building with a revolver in his hand.”
“What sort of a looking man was he?”
“I didn’t see him,” said the maid, almost regretfully. “He was taken away before I was up. Cook tells me it was the milkman found him and notified the police.”
“Who was he?”
“Nobody round here knows a thing about him. He shot himself through the heart and us sleeping here an’ not knowing anything at all about it.”
“But didn’t any one know who he was?”
“Never a soul. The superintendents from all the buildings round took a look at the body, but none of them knew him. It wasn’t anybody that lived around here. There’s a piece in the afternoon papers about it.”