"Well, she ain't at home as I can see. There ain't no smoke coming from the chimney, though to be sure she may be saving the coals. I thought the miser might have done away with her. He's an old rip as ought to be in gaol. I saw him making eyes at her." "Ah! Then Mrs. Brand is a pretty woman?" "Yes, in a kind of delicate sort of way. Brown hair and blue eyes and pale and little. Looked like a widder," said the boy confidentially, "but she wasn't. Bless you, no! Her husband's a commercial gent as comes home every now and then. But he's away for the most part of the time." "Have you ever seen him?" "In the dark I did. A tall gent. But I can't tell you his looks." "You are a smart boy," said Derrick, taking out his note-book. "I should like to see more of you." "My name's Potter," said the boy, grinning at this praise. "I work for old Rams the butcher." "Ah, I know the shop," said Derrick, noting this. "I once lived in Hampstead, and dealt with Mr. Rams." "My, ain't he sharp over the money. But Mrs. Brand always paid up like a lady. Guess the miser got his rent." "Webb hailed Derrick at this moment. Are you going to talk to that brat all day, officer?" he inquired shrilly, peering out of the open door. At the word "officer" Potter backed with a look of apprehension. "I say, you're a peeler. Lor! Anything wrong?" "No," said Derrick, vexed at being thus betrayed. "Hold your tongue about this conversation. I'll make it worth your while." "I'm fly," said Master Potter, with a whistle and an easier look. He showed a disposition to linger at the gate; but Derrick ordered him sway sharply, and he departed, casting looks over his shoulder, too amazed at his discovery of Derrick's profession to call old Webb bad names. Derrick went inside. "If Mr. Brand arrives I can show him this as my authority for entering the cottage," said Derrick, displaying a search-warrant. "Brand! Mrs. Brand?" "Mister! The husband." "Never saw him," grumbled Webb. "Mrs. Brand said she had one, but she paid the rent and looked after the house, and kept very much to herself. I never set eyes on him." "He's a commercial traveller," the boy said. "The boy's a liar," retorted the agreeable Mr. Webb. "Mrs. Brand was too much the lady to marry a commercial. She used to talk of her husband, but she never let on his employment." "Did she rent the cottage in her own name?" "Yes. I don't believe she had a husband." "What reference did she give." "Six months' rent in advance. Stop! She did refer me to a schoolmaster." "A schoolmaster? What is his name?" "Professor Bocaros." "A professor--of what?" "Lord," said Webb testily, "how do I know? Any one can call themselves professors if they've a mind to--especially foreigners." Derrick, who was standing in the small hall, started, and remembered what Miss Mason had said when he mentioned the stiletto. "Is this professor a foreigner?" he asked eagerly.