“Do you know who lives here?” he asked, sharply, turning to me.
“No, I do not. I am quite a stranger; in fact, I have never been in this street before in my life.”
“Hum!” he grunted, in a rather suspicious manner. “And how came you to know anything about the affair?”
“I chanced to be passing at the time, and my attention was attracted by a scream. I found a space between the blind and the window, and my curiosity being aroused, I looked in and saw the woman had been murdered.”
“Is that all you know?” he asked.
“That’s all.”
“Well, you won’t mind just stepping round to the station for a few minutes, will you? Then you can give us your version of the matter.”
“Oh, certainly I will, with pleasure,” I replied. The inspector having given some instructions to his men, the body of the murdered woman was covered with a table-cloth, and we went out leaving two constables in charge of the premises.
Dawn was spreading now; the stars had disappeared, and there were some saffron tints in the east, heralding the sun’s coming. At the corner of Montague Street the doctor wished us “good-morning,” and strode away in an opposite direction, scarcely well pleased at being aroused from his bed and called out to witness so unpleasant a sight.