“Now, mother,” interposed Dorcas, who was present, “I don’t think you ought to say such things about Miss Prall,—this is a serious matter, and talking to a detective is very different from your every-day spats and squabbles with Miss Letty.” “Hold your tongue, Dorcas; and you’d better leave the room. This is no subject for a young girl to be mixed up in. Go to Kate and let her fit your new guimpe.” “I’m just ready to try it on,” and Kate, the maid, appeared in the doorway, her mouth full of pins, and her hands full of voluminous breadths of tulle. “But I’d like to hear what this man has to say,” she went on, dropping her work on a table as she took a chair for herself. “I know a thing or two about this murder,” she declared, as she looked curiously at Gibbs, “and it would be to your advantage, sir, to listen to my tale.” “Oh, nonsense,” put in Mrs Everett, “you don’t know anything, Kate. She’s a visionary creature, Mr Gibbs, and greatly given to romancing.” “Nothing of the sort,” spoke up Kate, briskly, and Gibbs wondered at the strange apparent relation between mistress and servant. But as he listened further, he gathered that Kate had been so long the stay and dependence of the Everett household, that her position was more that of a housekeeper and general manager than an underling. It seemed that Mrs Everett depended on the woman for service, yet was chummy with her as with a companion. Kate sewed for Dorcas and kept her clothing in order, looked after Mrs Everett’s social engagements and was useful in so many ways that it was not difficult to see why she was made much of by her employer. Then, too, it was clear that she was entirely conversant with the feud, its progress and present condition. She was deeply interested in the murder mystery and, though Gibbs rather doubted it, she might have something of importance to tell him. So, as Dorcas obeyed her mother and left the room, the detective listened to the chatter of the two women, and from the volume of inconsequent talk he gleaned much of interest. Especially he learned the character of Miss Prall, or, rather, the traits of her character that interested the Everett household. Their tales may have been exaggerated, probably were, but he decided they contained internal evidence of Letitia’s insincerity and untruthfulness. He found out to his own conviction that he could not rely implicitly on the word of Miss Prall, and, this granted, her whole story might fall to the ground. The feud was talked over and detailed to him until he was positively sick of it, but he persevered in the talk, trying to lead it toward the murder. But the women were wary of this subject. Whether it was too grewsome for their taste or whether there was some other reason, Gibbs tried hard to find out. “But you told me you had something to communicate,” he insisted, to the canny-looking Kate. Her sharp eyes scrutinized him.