As Mrs. Basket drew breath after this long speech and lifted the tray, Ellis put a leading question: "Don't they keep a servant?" "No, they don't, sir, not as much as a work'us orfan. She is all alone in the 'ouse night after night, as I tells you, and it ain't no wonder as she keeps the carving-knife 'andy." "Where does Moxton go so regularly?" "Ah, Mr. Cass, where indeed? P'r'aps the perlice may know." "Come now, Mrs. Basket, you have no ground for making such a statement." "Oh, 'aven't I?" cried Mrs. Basket, indignantly. "Why, he's well orf and passes his days indoors doing nothing. 'Ow then does he earn his money? Why does he leave her alone? What's she doing with no servant and a carving-knife? No grounds!" Mrs. Basket waddled towards the door, nose in air, and paused there to deliver a last word: "I shouldn't be surprised at 'earing of a tragedy between 'em. Oh, that dratted bell! And at half-past eleven, too! Decent folk should be a-bed." The night-bell of Ellis's was ringing furiously, and Mrs. Basket, putting down the tray, squeezed through the door as hurriedly as her unwieldy form permitted. As the tail of her blue skirt whisked out of sight, Cass jumped up from the sofa and smote the doctor's shoulder. "Here is your first patient, Bob. Fortune is knocking at the door!" "Ringing, you mean," said Ellis, joking, to hide his agitation. As he spoke, the voice of Mrs. Basket was heard in wordy expostulation, and a light-footed visitor flitted along the passage and into the room. The new-comer proved to be a woman, young and pretty, bareheaded, and apparently wild with terror. Her entrance and appearance were dramatic. "The doctor!" she gasped, leaning against the door-post to support her trembling limbs. "I am a doctor," said Ellis, advancing. "What is it?" "My husband--my husband is--dead!" She paused with a catching in the throat, then her voice leaped to alto: "Murdered!" "Murdered!" exclaimed both men, with a simultaneous movement forward. "Murdered, in the garden! Doctor, come! come!" "Who is your husband?" stammered Ellis, his wits not quite under control. "What is his name?" "Moxton! Moxton!" she answered impatiently. "Come, doctor, don't lose time! I am Mrs. Moxton. My husband has been murdered!" CHAPTER II THE WRITING IN BLOOD The long arm of coincidence was startlingly apparent in this instance. Both men were so amazed at the terrible news fitting in so neatly, not only with the subject of conversation, but with Mrs. Basket's prophetic remark when the bell rang, that they looked at one another dumbfounded. Mrs. Moxton stared at their motionless figures with indignant eyes. "Are you not coming?" she demanded vehemently, seizing the hand of Ellis. "Don't I tell you my husband is dead!" "I am coming, Mrs. Moxton," said Ellis, hurriedly. "But if he is dead my presence will be useless. This is a case for the police."