Some time later she found herself in the great entrance hall, standing before a man at an improvised desk of rough boarding. There were police about and a plain-clothes man was writing things on sheets of paper. Two or three others not in uniform were standing near, apparently uninterested, but in reality watching her like cats. The old woman glanced at the various people in the room, hardly aware that they were real. It might just as well have been a dream. After a time she thought she heard some one speaking to her. “What?” she asked, looking about vaguely. An officer came to her and explained that she must answer the questions. “What questions?” she inquired. It appeared there was curiosity as to her name, age, and occupation. She gave the information in a low mumbling voice, speaking absently. That out of the way, the inspector, noticing that she was inattentive, began with sharp emphasis: “Mrs. Temple, you knew the deceased, did you not?” The old woman turned to him, startled, and stood looking at him a moment. Then she looked away, glancing rather vaguely about the room. She was beginning to realize where she was and what was going on. “Well, are we going to hear anything from you this evening?” “Are you the perlice?” she asked with a sharpness of her own. “You’re here to answer questions—not to ask them.” “I’d like to know if you’re the perlice, that’s all!” “This is a police investigation, if that’s what you mean. We’re taking testimony throwing light on the crime just committed here. You may be able to help us.” “No——” Mrs. Temple shook her old gray head. “I won’t be able to help ye none.” “You mean you don’t know anything about it?” “I mean what I told ye—that I won’t be able to help ye none.” “You don’t seem to realize your position, madam. We can compel you to answer questions here. But you ought to be willing to give us any information you can without that, so we can find the guilty man and bring him to the punishment he deserves.” “What good’ll punishment do, I’d like to know? What’s the good o’ that to—to the poor dear man lyin’ there—shot down like a dog he was—doin’ no harm to no one—juss standin’ there lightin’ his pipe—and shot down like a dog!” She was unable to go on for a moment; but having caught what she said about Haworth lighting his pipe, the inspector waited for her. He would give her plenty of time and nurse her along, for it looked very much as though she’d been a witness to the actual shooting.