There was something odd in the old lady's manner, and I felt convinced she knew more than she said. The old lady is spasmodic, and speaks very slowly, gasping at each word, with a long pause between. "Of course," I said, with a knowing look, "you didn't hear anything, so you couldn't tell them anything! I should have done just the same." "Would you, Becky? Would you--eh?" "Certainly," I replied. "I wouldn't run the chance of being taken from my comfortable bed to appear in a police court, and catch my death of cold, and have everybody staring and pointing at me." "You're a clever girl, Becky," said Mrs. Bailey, "a clever girl--eh? And I'm a clever old woman--eh? Very good--very good! Catch my death of cold, indeed! So I should--eh?" Then suddenly, "Becky, can you keep a secret--eh?" "That you told me!" I said. "Nothing could tear it from me." "I did hear something, Becky." "Did you?" I asked, with a smile which was intended to invite complete confidence. "Yes, Becky." "What was it?" "Two voices--as if there was a quarrel going on--a quarrel, Becky, eh?" "Ah!" said I, "it is a good job you kept it to yourself. The detectives, and the magistrates, and the lawyers would have put you to no end of trouble. Were they men's voices?" "Yes, men's voices." "It was put in the papers," I said, "that there was a scream. Mrs. Preedy, downstairs, heard that, but she could not say whether it was from a man or a woman." "I heard it, too, Becky. It was a man--I could swear to it. Why, if you lie on this bed, with your head to the wall, and it's quiet as it was then, you can hear almost everything that goes on in the next house. Try it, Becky." I lay down beside her, and although no sound at that time came to my ears, it was easy to believe that she was not labouring under a delusion. "Could you hear what the men said to each other?" I asked. "Not when they spoke low," she replied, "only when they raised their voices, and I wasn't awake all the time. Somebody was playing on the piano, now and then--playing softly--and between whiles there was talk going on. One said, 'You won't, won't you?' And the other said, 'No--not if I die for it!' Then there was the sound of a blow--O, Becky! it made me tremble all over. And then came the scream that Mrs. Preedy heard. And almost directly afterwards, the piano played that loud that I believe you could have heard it in the next street. The music went on for a long time, and then everything was quiet. That was all." "Did neither of the men speak after that?" I asked. "No, or if they did, it was so low that it didn't reach me." My dear, to hear this woman, who is very, very old, and quite close to death's door, relate the dreadful story, with scarcely a trace of feeling in her voice, and with certainly no compassion, would have shocked you--as it did me; but I suppressed my emotion.