"Oh, Dick's going to speak to them. And you would rather Dick did it?" "Yes, if you please, sir." "Well, then, Dick it shall be. I have no doubt he will do it as well as myself--better, perhaps, he being a literary character." There was a faint twinkle in his sleepy eyes. "But you have no objection to my walking a little way with your mother, I hope? Mr. Inspector, have you any opinion----" "Don't ask me for opinions," interrupted Inspector Robson. "Pardon my indiscretion, but one's natural curiosity, you know. There will be an inquest?" "Of course there will be an inquest." "Of course--_of_ course. Good day, Mr. Inspector, I am greatly obliged to you. Now, my dear madam." They walked out of Deadman's Court, Mrs. Death and Dr. Vinsen in front, Dick and Gracie in the rear, at whom now and then the doctor, his head over his shoulder, cast an encouraging smile. "Do you like him, Dick?" asked Gracie. "No, I don't," he replied, "and I don't know why." "_I_ do," said Gracie. "He's so slimy." CHAPTER XXIX. A MODERN KNIGHT OF CHIVALRY. Draper's Mews and its purlieus were on fire with excitement, raised by a spark dropped by a vicious beetle-browed coster, whose chronic state for years past had been too much beer, and liquor of a worse kind. Mrs. Death's neighbours were by no means unfavourably disposed towards her and her family. The kindness of the poor to the poor is proverbial, and there is much less friction in the way of social scandal among the lower classes than among those of higher rank. This was exemplified in Draper's Mews, where the Death family had long resided, and had fought life's bitter battle in amity with all around them. Now and then, of course, small differences had cropped up, but they were soon got over, and there was no serious disturbance of friendly relations. To this happy state of things there was, however, an exception. It happened in this way. Two or three years ago, on a bright summer day, the beetle-browed coster wheeled his barrow through the poor neighbourhood, disposing of his stock of early cherries at fourpence the standard pound. Children who had a halfpenny or a penny to spare, beggared themselves incontinently, and walked about with cherry ear-rings dangling in their ears, while some made teapots with fruit and stalks, and refreshed themselves with imaginary cups of the finest leaf of China. Abel Death stood by, and looking at the children thought of his own, and fingered the few loose coppers in his pocket. Strange that fruit so tempting and young--the cherries were whitehearts, with the daintiest blush on their innocent cheeks--should have been destined to bring sorrow to the hearts of those who were dear to the poor clerk! But in this reflection we must not forget the apple in the Garden of Eden.