“Drop that,” the detective commanded. “And answer some questions.” The moaning stopped. “Where were you yesterday and last night?” The reply came slowly, as though speaking were great pain. “I been sick in dis bed now t’ree day an’ night.” “We been settin’ wid she, nursin’ she, all dat time,” one of the women said. And the other supplemented, “Dat de Gawd’ trut’.” “You would swear to that?” asked the Coroner. Three voices answered in chorus: “Yes, Boss, we swear tuh dat.” “There you are,” said the Coroner to the plain-clothes man, “an air-tight alibi.” The detective regarded him for a moment with supreme contempt. Then he stepped forward and jerked the sheet from Serena’s face, which lay upon the pillow as immobile as a model done in brown clay. “You know damn well that you were out yesterday!” he snapped. “I have a good mind to get the wagon and carry you in.” Silence followed. “What do you say to that?” he demanded. But Serena had nothing to say, and neither had her handmaidens. Then he turned a menacing frown upon them, as they sat motionless with lowered eyes. “Well!” They jumped slightly, and their eyes showed white around the iris. Suddenly they began to speak, almost in unison. “We swear tuh Gawd, we done been hyuh wid she t’ree day.” “Oh, Hell!” said the exasperated detective. “What’s the use? You might as well argue with a parrot-cage.” “That woman is just as ill at this moment as you are,” he said to his unenthusiastic associate when they were again in the sunlight. “Her little burlesque show proves that, if nothing else. But there is her case all prepared. I don’t believe she killed Crown; she doesn’t look like that kind. She is either just playing safe, or she has something entirely different on her chest. But there’s her story; and you’ll never break in without witnesses of your own; and you’ll never get ’em.” The Coroner was not a highly sensitized individual; but as he moved across the empty court, he found it difficult to control his nerves under the scrutiny which he felt leveled upon him from behind a hundred shuttered windows. Twice he caught himself looking covertly over his shoulders; and, as he went, he bore hopefully away toward the entrance. But the detective was intent upon his task, and presently called him back. “This is the cripple’s room,” he said. “He ain’t much of a witness. I tried to break him in the Robbins case; but he wouldn’t talk. I want to have a look at the woman, though.” He kicked the door open suddenly. Porgy and Bess were seated by the stove, eating breakfast from tin pans. On the bed in the corner the baby lay. Porgy paused, with his spoon halfway to his mouth, and looked up. Bess kept her eyes on the pan, and continued to eat. The Coroner stopped in the doorway, and made a businesslike show of writing in a notebook. “What’s your name?” he asked Porgy.