This good lady was even more disgusted than Mrs Mansfield with the whole matter of Gleason, his life and death. More especially the last for, it seemed to her, no one had a right to die a violent death under the same roof with refined and conservative people. “Why, he was a loud-voiced man,” declared Miss Adams, as if pronouncing the last and worst word of opprobrium. “Ah, you heard him from up here?” “Sometimes, yes. He had chums visit him, and they would laugh and talk so loudly, I couldn’t help hearing them.” “Could you distinguish what they said?” “No; not words. But I could hear well enough to know whether he was merry or angry—for, I assure you, sometimes he was the latter.” “Did you hear anything from that apartment yesterday?” “Oh, yes, I heard the two shots.” “You did! What did you do?” “Nothing. What should I do? As a matter of fact I didn’t think they were shots. I thought them tire explosions or some noise in the street. But after I knew about the murder, I realized that I had heard the fatal shot.” “Yet you said nothing to anybody?” “Man alive, what could I say? I had nothing to do with Mr Gleason or his murder——” “But your duty as a citizen——” “Look here, what do you mean? Where was any duty? You people—you police people knew the shots were fired, didn’t you? Then why should I inform anybody that they were? And that’s all I knew—or know about them. They were fired. I heard them. No more.” The sharp-featured, sharp-tongued old maid sat bolt upright in her chair, and glared at Belknap. Her hair was drawn up in a tight knot, after the fashion of New England spinsters, and Belknap wondered what it was about her appearance that seemed so strange. Then he realized it was her exposed ears! He had not seen a woman with bared ears for so long that it looked most peculiar to him. For the rest, Miss Adams was angular, even gaunt, and apparently of a decided and forceful nature. And her testimony might be valuable. “Your knowledge is of importance,” he said, gravely. “To be sure we know the shots were fired, but a witness is always of interest. What time was it that you heard the shots?” “I’ve no idea,” she returned, carelessly. “Oh, I know, in the story books, the witness always knows, because he was just going to keep an engagement—or, setting his watch, or something. But I don’t know at all.” “You are quite conversant with detective stories, though!” “Yes. I read them, since they’re getting so popular. Anything more you want to ask?” “Yes, please. I want to try to fix the time of those shots.” “And I tell you I can’t do it. Look here, did you meet any one you know, on the street yesterday afternoon?” “Why, yes, I did—I met two or three.” “All right. Mention one.” “Well—a Mr Hartley.” “All right, what time did you meet him?” “I don’t know exactly——” “About?” “Oh, about half-past four or five—no, it was later——”