In a stuffy room, rendered almost unbearable by the heat of the flaring gas, two men were talking earnestly together, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. The one in uniform was a burly, red-faced martinet known in Grangebury as Inspector Lackland. He was too completely hemmed in by red tapeism to count for much; but the other in plain clothes was Absolom Gebb, well known in Scotland Yard as a capable detective, but not so infallible as the miracle-monger of fiction. It was Gebb who brought home the theft of Lady Daleshire's diamonds to herself; who proved Dr. Marner to be guilty of poisoning his wife, in spite of strong evidence to the contrary; who solved nine out of every ten criminal problems submitted to him, and who was the terror of all evil-doers. This tall, lean man with his clean-shaven face and black, observant eyes was an enthusiast in his profession, and loved to ponder over and follow out the intricacies of criminal mysteries. At the present moment he was conversing with Lackland about a recent Anarchist conspiracy, and therefore happened to be in the Grangebury Police Office when the zealous policeman appeared with his terrified prisoner. She cried out when she was thrust into the room, and, confronted by inspector and detective, covered her face with her hands. "Hey! What!" said Lackland, in his rasping voice. "What's all this about?" "Case of murder, sir," jerked out the policeman, pushing forward the prisoner. "Paradise Row! Woman strangled!" "Murder?" cried Gebb, pricking up his ears at the ominous word. "Murder!" screeched the woman, and fell into a chair. Evidently she had received a shock and was on the verge of hysterics, for she began to babble and weep copiously. Accustomed to deal with this sort of emotion, Lackland seized a jug of water standing near his desk, and dashed the contents into her face. The remedy was efficacious, for with a gasp and a shiver the woman recovered her self-control and tongue, also her inherent feminine vanity. "You brute!" she screamed, jumping up wrathfully. "My best bonnet's spoilt." "Attention!" roared the inspector in his sternest military manner; "none of this nonsense here. What about this murder in----" "I didn't kill her!" interrupted the woman, wiping her face. "'Tilda and me knew nothing about it till we found her strangled when we came back from the lecture." "Did you attend the lecture on Dickens in the Town Hall?" asked Gebb. "Yes, I did, sir; both me and 'Tilda, who is my servant, went." "What is your name?" asked the detective, with professional sharpness. "Maria Presk." "Married or single?" "Married once, single now," sighed the woman. "I am what you call a widow, sir; and I let lodgings in Paradise Row." "Was this dead woman a lodger of yours?" "Miss Ligram, you mean? Yes. Miss Ligram was in the first floor front." "And who killed Miss Ligram?" asked Gebb, looking keenly at Mrs. Presk. The good lady turned ever paler than before.