"Yes," was the cautious reply, given, however, with a leer he found not altogether pleasant. "She is a relative of the injured woman, or a friend, perhaps?" The old woman's face looked frightful. "No," she muttered grimly; "they are strangers." At this unexpected response Mr. Byrd made a perceptible start forward. The old woman's hand fell at once on his arm. "Stay!" she hoarsely whispered. "By strangers I mean they don't visit each other. The town is too small for any of us to be strangers." Mr. Byrd nodded and escaped her clutch. "This is worth seeing through," he murmured, with the first gleam of interest he had shown in the affair. And, hurrying forward, he succeeded in following the lady into the house. The sight he met there did not tend to allay his newborn interest. There she stood in the centre of the sitting-room, tall, resolute, and commanding, her eyes fixed on the door of the room that contained the still breathing sufferer, Mr. Orcutt's eyes fixed upon her. It seemed as if she had asked one question and been answered; there had not been time for more. "I do not know what to say in apology for my intrusion," she remarked. "But the death, or almost the death, of a person of whom we have all heard, seems to me so terrible that----" But here Mr. Orcutt interrupted gently, almost tenderly, but with a fatherly authority which Mr. Byrd expected to see her respect. "Imogene," he observed, "this is no place for you; the horror of the event has made you forget yourself; go home and trust me to tell you on my return all that it is advisable for you to know." But she did not even meet his glance with her steady eyes. "Thank you," she protested; "but I cannot go till I have seen the place where this woman fell and the weapon with which she was struck. I want to see it all. Mr. Ferris, will you show me?" And without giving any reason for this extraordinary request, she stood waiting with that air of conscious authority which is sometimes given by great beauty when united to a distinguished personal presence. The District Attorney, taken aback, moved toward the dining-room door. "I will consult with the coroner," said he. But she waited for no man's leave. Following close behind him, she entered upon the scene of the tragedy. "Where was the poor woman hit?" she inquired. They told her; they showed her all she desired and asked her no questions. She awed them, all but Mr. Orcutt--him she both astonished and alarmed. "And a tramp did all this?" she finally exclaimed, in the odd, musing tone she had used once before, while her eye fell thoughtfully to the floor. Suddenly she started, or so Mr. Byrd fondly imagined, and moved a pace, setting her foot carefully down upon a certain spot in the carpet beneath her. "She has spied something," he thought, and watched to see if she would stoop.