It was a sad Christmas Eve for Clarice. Anthony stopped as long as he could, but had to return to his duties early in the evening. Ferdy behaved much better than his sister expected him to, since he remained at home, and did his best to comfort her. After dinner, the Vicar looked in, and talked religion; but Clarice, knowing what a weak man the parson was, did not find much encouragement in his ministrations. The kitchen was much livelier than the drawing-room, for there Mrs. Rebson was enthroned with the Domestic Prophet in her lap, recounting over and over again what the book had said, and how she had applied it to Mr. Horran. The next day being Christmas, the inquest could not be held, but on Boxing Day the jury and the local Coroner arrived to inspect the body and to hold an inquiry. Already the London papers had heard of the murder, and, as it was the eighth of the Purple Fern series, a number of reporters came from the Metropolis to take notes. Never before was the quiet little town so lively, for cheap trippers took advantage of cheap fares to come and view the scene of the latest crime. Many even preferred this new excitement to the well-worn amusements of Southend, which was not very far distant. Mrs. Dumps especially did a roaring trade, being particularly popular, from having conversed with the murderer. The shrewd little woman made the best of the notoriety, which had so suddenly rendered her famous. "I'm sure," she cackled a dozen times in the course of the day, "you could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard that such a nice man as Mr. Osip was nothing but a cut-throat assassin. And he wanted to take poor Mr. Horran's house, too--just like his artfulness, when he intended murder and sudden death, as the Prayer Book says. Oh, that Dumps were alive to support me, for my limbs is giving with horror at the thought that I might likewise be cut off in the prime of my youth and beauty. Lydia, beer to that gentleman over there! And now I'll have to get ready for the inquest, my evidence being required to hang the assassin. Though assassin he didn't look like, I can tell you, gentleman. As nice a spoken man as I ever listened to, which shows how careful we ought to be, seeing that in the middle of life we are in our grave, as the Bible says." After which and a few other incoherent speeches, the little woman arrayed herself in her smartest frock and took her way to the house of death.