“I shall give you a pound if you will let me have a talk with you,” said Marie, smiling, for in spite of the woman’s disreputable looks there was something oddly attractive about her. “A pound, and what’s a pound, miss?” grumbled Mother Slaig. “Not much, but it is all I can afford. You are a kind-hearted woman, Mrs. Slaig, I am quite sure.” “Me!” Mother Slaig stared. “Why I’m the tork of the place for me languidge and slappings.” “Ah,” said Marie diplomatically, “no one has taken you in the right way.” “P’raps they ’ave an’ p’raps they ’avn’t,” growled the woman restlessly, for Marie’s charm of manner softened her, “an what’s all this oil and butter for, miss. You want something, you do. Oh trust you fur that.” “Yes, Mrs. Slaig, I do want something, and I am going to throw myself on your mercy, because I trust you.” The old hag stopped scratching her elbow, and stared harder than ever. “I never was spoke delicate-like to afore,” she muttered. “You ain’t the sort of lady with tracts as I’ ’ad ’ere, bullying me no end.” “I hope I’m not,” said Marie with a girlish laugh, which brought a perplexed smile in answer on the old woman’s dirty wrinkled face. It was rare that such pure innocent laughter was heard in Gibson’s Rents. “I know you will help me, Mrs. Slaig.” “Well, I don’t say as I won’t, for there’s no denying you’ve got a way with you, as ain’t bad. What is it?” “It’s about the murder of Mr. Grison?” said Marie slowly. Mother Slaig aroused with a subdued screech, “Blimme if you ain’t one o’ them wimin ’tecs. Now ain’t y’, ain’t y’?” “No; I am the niece of Mr. Randolph Sorley who is accused of the crime.” Mother Slaig dropped again into her chair a shapeless bundle of clothes, and with a bewildered look in her eyes. “Ho! you’re her, are y’?” she growled, but not in a hostile manner. “Moon—he’s the head peeler hereabouts, dearie’s been nosin’ round about that murder. Only this mornin’ he comes an’ ses as they caught that Sorley cove larst night, and he got away in th’ bloomin’ fog. Yuss,” said Mother Slaig, anticipating Marie’s question. “I knows the Sorley cove. Many a time he’s come t’ see that Grison chap, as was a rotten bad egg, and guv me shillin’s and tanners endless. A swell, a toff, he was tryin’ to look what wasn’t his age, but a good ’un wiff his cash. I ’adn’t got no row with him, nohow,” and she nodded vigorously. “You don’t think he murdered Mr. Grison?” asked Marie apprehensively. “Blimme if I knows,” said Mother Slaig reflectively, and scratching her elbow again, “and what odd’s ’f he did anyhow, miss. Grison was better undergroun’ than above it in my opinion. Never paid his rent rigler he did, cuss him,” swore Mother Slaig furiously, “an’ if I’d knowed about that gold hen as they’re makin’ sich a fuss round, I’d ha’ had it out of him for a whelp as he allays was, an’ that same, you kin taike fro’ me, miss.”