"I--I don't know, sir," she stammered, with a scared look. "I can take my stand in any court of----" "Face this way, ma'am!" interrupted Lackland, who was indignant at the way in which Gebb was usurping his authority. "I'm in charge of this office. I'm the officer to take your evidence. Mr. Gebb! Discipline!" "Alright! Go ahead!" replied the detective, inwardly cursing the too methodical procedure of his superior, "I don't want to interfere. But," he added with emphasis, "I think we should go at once and look at the corpse." "All in good time, Mr. Gebb. More haste, less speed!" said Lackland, crisply. "And the more delay, the less chance of getting at the truth," retorted Gebb. The fact was that Gebb's sporting instincts were roused, and he wanted to be off on the trail while it was yet fresh. Every moment was of importance. Yet, as he was not in charge of the case, he was forced to stand idly by and hear the blundering inspector putting a lot of irrelevant questions--good for nothing, but wasting time. However, Gebb managed to extract some grains of wheat out of a vast quantity of chaff, and in a roundabout way--thanks to the inspector's method of questioning--learned the following facts, which were sufficient to inform him how matters stood at present. Miss Ligram was--or rather, had been, since she no longer existed--a lodger in the house of Mrs. Presk, No. 13, Paradise Row. She was a quiet, inoffensive old lady, who gave little trouble, and who remained by preference in her own room. On the night of the 24th July, Mrs. Presk and her servant, Matilda Crane, had attended a lecture delivered in the Town Hall. The lecture--an amusing one on Charles Dickens and his works--had afforded them much pleasure, and they returned at eleven o'clock to Paradise Row in a state of high spirits. On passing round to the back entrance they saw that a light was still burning in Miss Ligram's sitting-room, and, wondering at the sight--for the lodger usually retired early--Mrs. Presk, on entering the house, had gone upstairs to see if anything was wrong. To her horror she found Miss Ligram dead, with a cord round her neck. Terrified by the sight, she had called up Matilda Crane, who, more impressionable and less hardened, had promptly fainted away. Mrs. Presk, a woman of energy and resource, had immediately sought the aid of the police, and now insisted that Lackland and his subordinates should remove the corpse and capture the murderer. "That last is easier said than done," was Gebb's comment on this demand. "By this time the assassin is far enough away. However, there's no time to be lost in looking at the scene of the crime, as I suggested." "Quite so," said Lackland, gruffly. "No time to waste, ma'am"--to Mrs. Presk. "March! Gebb, come with me and catch the murderer!"