"Well, Mrs. Brand hasn't been seen since the day that crime took place," retorted Webb, "and then there's the room, you know." "Ah! I want to see the room. It is strange she should have been killed in a room similar to that occupied by herself. I can't understand it." "If you made it worth my while I might assist you. I am poor; oh! how poor I am. Look at my clothes. You wouldn't pick them off a dunghill--not you. And I live on sausages. They're cheap, but not filling. Do you know of anything that taken at one meal would keep me going for a week?" "No," said Derrick abruptly, and thinking the old man a queer character. "Show me the house." "All in good time," said the ancient, hobbling to the gate. "Ah!" He wheeled round and shook his fist at a butcher's boy. "Hear that brat. Why don't you run him in for insulting language?" "Miser! miser!" chanted the boy, leering across the lane at the old creature, who shook his fist in impotent rage. "Golly, what clothes. Say, mister"--this was to Derrick--"if I come across to deliver the meat, will you stop the old cove from pitching into me?" "I'll bash your head, you imp," yelled Webb, quivering with rage. "Leave him alone," said Derrick good-humouredly. "Boys will be boys. Now then, young shaver, come along!" But the boy declined. He darted across the road, thrust a chop into the inspector's hand, and darted back. "You give it to Mrs. Brand, governor," said the boy, grinning; "the old cove's got his bleary eye on yours truly." "Beast of a boy," said Webb, and entering the gate he hobbled up to the door. Derrick lingered behind, and produced a shilling. "See here, boy," he remarked persuasively, "do you deliver meat to Mrs. Brand every day?" "Every second day," said the boy advancing, lured by the shilling. "Has the meat been taken in as usual?" "No, it ain't. Not for over a week. Nearly a fortnight, you might say. I brings them though--the chops, I mean--and puts them in the meat-safe at the back of the house. There's lots there, but she ain't bin home to eat them." "When did you last see her?" "Over a fortnight ago," said the boy, counting on his fingers, and apparently not very sure as to his dates. "On a Thursday that was. She took the chop in as usual. On Saturday I brought a steak late--somewhere about six--so that it might be quite fresh for Sunday, and she wasn't in. Ain't seen her since. Say, mister, if y' know her, say as master 'ull charge her for the meat. It's her own fault she ain't eaten it." "Why didn't she leave a servant in charge?" "Too poor," said the boy, taking the shilling and spitting on it for luck. "She always did the housework herself. But she was a real lady for all that. Say, mister"--the boy stared--"nothing ain't gone wrong with her?" "No. I merely called to see her."