The doctor had no reply to this pertinent observation, as, after all, his remark about the sister had been made vaguely and without any ulterior meaning. A turn of the street brought them to the cab-stand at which Cass, as a journalist, was well known. He immediately began to question the men in a chaffing, popular way. They were ready enough to answer his questions, the more so as these were concerning the murder; but one and all declared that no particular man had hired a cab between eleven and twelve on the night of August 16th. "Old Ike is the one to know, though," said a red-faced cabman. "He 'ave a memory like 'is own 'orse." There was a murmur of assent at this, and old Ike, shaky, lean, ancient, more like a grey wolf than a man, was routed out of the shelter in which he was refreshing himself with tea. "A fare on that murder night, sir? Lor', I don't quite know wot t' say 'bout that. 'Leven an' twelve was it? Well, now, sir, the chapsies at that time were at the station waiting the thayater trains. Weren't you, chapsies?" "Ah! that we were, but you worn't, Ike," said the red-faced cabman, replying for the others. "You never does go fur them late fares." "I wos alone on the rank, Mr. Cass, now I thinks of it, and I 'ad a fare to Pimlico, to Geneva Square, where that Silent 'Ouse murder took place." "What was the man like?" asked Ellis, eagerly. "It weren't no man, sir, but a gal, a short gal with a grey dress and a black cloak, straw 'at, fair 'air, plump figger, and small 'ands." "Why, Cass, he is describing Mrs. Moxton," said Ellis, wonderingly. "At what time did she take your cab, Ike?" "Just afore arf-past 'leven, sir. Came tearing down the road wild-like and crying fit to break 'er 'eart. Jus' tumbled into m'keb, she did, an' tole me to drive t' Pimlico." "Mrs. Moxton was in our room at half-past eleven," said Cass, when finding that this was all the information obtainable they walked away. "The woman can't be Mrs. Moxton. Yet the description, fair hair, trim figure, might pass for her. I wonder who she is?" "I know, Harry. I was right, after all. The woman who cried and fled like a guilty person was Janet Gordon, the sister of Mrs. Moxton." CHAPTER VIII A MUSIC-HALL STAR It would seem, then, from this fresh discovery, that a third person was implicated in the matter, and that person a woman. Cass and Ellis argued the matter at great length in the train, and continued their argument as they drove from St. James's Station to Soho. The doctor was convinced from old Ike's description that the woman could be no other than Mrs. Moxton's sister, but Cass was more than doubtful. "It might be a general resemblance," he said. "Besides, if Janet Gordon came to see Mrs. Moxton on that night, why does not her sister say so?" "She is shielding her, I tell you," insisted Ellis. "That accounts for the way in which she keeps silent even to me, whom she knows as her friend."