“Well I don’t believe that my uncle murdered Mr. Grison,” said Marie in a resolute voice, and looking hard at the harridan. “That’s right, dearie, allys stick up fur them as is relatives, though I don’t think much o’ mine leavin’ me ’ere to slave cruel, and never givin’ no cash whiff their stingyness. He was ’ere that night y’ know anyhow.” “He came away at eight o’clock and Mr. Grison wasn’t killed till after,” declared the girl. “So he ses,” murmured Mother Slaig, “p’raps some frien’ of him es Grison stuck paid him out in th’ saime waif.” “What do you mean?” asked Marie who had not heard of the man’s act. “Didn’t y’ know,” cried Mother Slaig with relish “why, bless y’ miss—an’ bless y’ I kin, fur I’ve kind o’ taiken a fancy t’ y’—Grison killed a cove es he smoked wiff in, that Chinky’s den. We fun’ the watch of th’ cove an’ his juwulery in Grison’s room. A frien’ of him es wos done fur may ’ave stuck Grison out of revenge, and no blame t’ him, dearie.” “Do you know if any relatives of this dead man came down here?” “No, I never did. I don’t know anything, miss, and what’s more I don’t want to i’ case I shud come bunkin’ against them beastly perlice, as is allays interferin’ with an honest woman who’s tryin’ to git ’er livin’.” “Well then,” asked Marie coming to the point “can you tell me if an Indian called Morad-Bakche ever came to see Mr. Grison?” “Don’ no th’ naime,” said Mother Slaig, after a moment’s thought, “an there’s lots of them dagoes abaout ’ere, lascars an’ mulletters and all that sort o’ scum. Grison torked t’ one an’ all. What like’s the cove’s y’ve got in yer mind, miss?” As Marie had heard Bakche described both by Alan and Mrs. Verwin she was able to convey to Mother Slaig’s shrewd intelligence a fair picture of the man. The old hag reflected again, then slapped her fat knees with both fat hands. “Know ’im, dearie; ’course I knows him, ’Aughty-like, fur a nigger, an’ looked on me, es is a free born British woman jus’ like mud. I guv him bits of m’ mind when he sneaked round ’ere.” “Then he _did_ come to see Mr. Grison?” asked Marie, delighted that she had succeeded in establishing the fact of Bakche’s acquaintance with the dead man. “Did he come often?” “Carn’t keep count, miss, me not ’aving a ’ead fur figures, tho’ me sister was grand at them, dearie. But he comes times an’ again. Oh, yuss,” she went on as the memory returned to her, “he was stan’orf fur a nigger. ’Thort he was a lascar at fust, but he wasn’t, tho’ he did live on rice and water like them sweeps. Dress’d like one of them stokers tho’—if y’ know what a seedee boy is, miss, which of course y’ wudn’t, bein’ a lady. I sawr as he was a cut above them, I did. He wore a snake?” “Wore a snake,” repeated Marie bewildered. “On his right arm, below th’ elber,” explained Mother Slaig, “’tattooted it was, as them sailors ’ave a fancy fur; twistin’ round’ an’ roun’ till it made me giddy t’ look at it.”