"Anybody else in the house besides you?" and the policeman yawned--for
he had gone out on dog-watch--and looked into the wet, shiny,
drizzle-swept street.

"Only Sallie Page, the cook. I'll call her. There's Mrs. Darcy's
maid--Jane Metson. But she went away yesterday afternoon and won't be
back until about noon. It's past time Sallie was down to get
breakfast. I'll call her--"

Darcy made a move as though to go to the rear of the store, whence a
side door gave entrance to the stairs leading to the rooms above.

"I'll go with you," said Mulligan, and he shoved himself to an erect
posture by forcing his elbows against the showcase on which he had been
leaning in a manner to give himself as much rest as possible without
sitting down--it was a way he had, acquired from long patrolling of
city streets.

"You--you'll go with me?" faltered Darcy.

"Yes, to call the cook. _She_ won't run away," and he nodded toward
the dead woman.

"Oh!" There was a world of meaning in Darcy's interjection. "You mean
that I--"

"I don't mean nothin'!" broke in Mulligan. "I leave that to the
gum-shoe men. Come on, if you want to call what's-her-name!"

It took some little time, by calling and pounding outside her door, to
arouse deaf Sallie Page, and longer to make her understand that she was
wanted. Then, just as Darcy had expected, she began to cry and moan
when she heard her mistress was dead, and refused to come from her
room. She had served the owner of the jewelry store for more than a
score of years.

"Hark!" exclaimed Mulligan, as he and Darcy came downstairs after
having roused Sallie Page. "What's that?"

"Some one is knocking," remarked his companion.

"Maybe it's the men from headquarters."

It was--Carroll and Thong, who always teamed it when there was a case
of sufficient importance, as this seemed to be. They were insistently
knocking at the side door, having forced their way through the crowd
that was still there--larger than ever, maintaining positions in spite
of the dripping, driving, drizzling rain.

"Killed, eh?" murmured Carroll, as he bent over the body.

"Gun?" asked Thong, who was making a quick visual inventory of the
interior of the place.

"No; doesn't seem so. Looks more like her head's been busted in. Hit
with something. Doc Warren can 'tend to that end of it. Now let's get
down to business. Who found her this way?"

"I did," answered Darcy.

"And who are you?"

"Her second cousin. Her name was Mrs. Amelia Darcy, and her husband
and my father were first cousins. I have worked for her about seven
years--ever since just after her husband died. She continued his
business. It's one of the oldest in the city and--"

"Yes, I know all about that. Robbery here once--before your time. We
got back some of the stuff for the old lady. She treated us pretty
decent, too. When'd you find her like this?"

"About half an hour ago. I got up a little before six o'clock to do
some repair work on a man's watch. He wanted to get the early train
out of town."

"I see! And you found the old lady like this?" asked Carroll.

"Just like this--yes. Then I called in the milkmen--"

"I saw them," interrupted Mulligan. "I know 'em. They're all right,
so I let 'em go. We can get 'em after they finish their routes."

"Um," assented Thong. "Anything gone from the store?" he asked Darcy.

"I haven't looked."

"Better take a look around. It's probably a robbery. You know the
stock, don't you?"

"As well as she did herself. I've been doing the buying lately."

"Well, have a look. Who's that at the door?" he asked sharply, for a
knock as of authority sounded--different from the aimless and impatient
kickings and tappings of the wet throng outside.

"It's Daley from the Times," reported Mulligan, peering out. "He's all
right. Shall I let him in?"

"Oh, yes, I guess so," assented Carroll, with a glance at Thong, who
confirmed, by a nod of his head, what his partner said. "He'll give us


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