Hideous as the apartment was, it seemed to afford Mrs. Bensusan--also a survival--great pleasure; and she cast a complacent look around as Lucian seated himself on an uncomfortable chair covered with an antimacassar of crochet work. "My rooms are most comfortable, an' much liked," said Mrs. Bensusan, sighing, "but I have not had many lodgers lately. Rhoda thinks it must be on account of that horrible murder." "The murder of Vrain in No. 13?" "Ah!" groaned the fat woman, looking tearfully over her double chin, "I see you have heard of it." "Everybody has heard of it," replied Lucian, "and I was one of the first to hear, since I live in Miss Greeb's house, opposite No. 13." "Indeed, sir!" grunted Mrs. Bensusan, stiffening a little at the sound of a rival lodging-house keeper's name. "Then you are Mr. Denzil, the gentleman who occupies Miss Greeb's first floor front." "Yes. And I have come to ask you a few questions." "About what, sir?" said Mrs. Bensusan, visibly alarmed. "Concerning Mr. Wrent." "You are a friend of his?" "I said so, Mrs. Bensusan, but as a matter of fact I never set eyes on the gentleman in my life." Mrs. Bensusan gasped like a fish out of water, and patted her fat breast with her fat hand, as though to give herself courage. "It is not like a gentleman to say that another gentleman's his friend when he ain't," she said, with an attempt at dignity. "Very true," answered Lucian, with great composure, "but you know the saying, 'All is fair in love and war.' I will be plain with you, Mrs. Bensusan," he added, "I am here to seek possible evidence in connection with the murder of Mr. Vrain, in No. 13, on Christmas Eve." Mrs. Bensusan gave a kind of hoarse screech, and stared at Lucian in a horrified manner. "Murder!" she repeated. "Lord! what mur--that murder! Mr. Vrain! Mr. Vrain--that murder!" she repeated over and over again. "Yes, the murder of Mr. Vrain in No. 13 Geneva Square on Christmas Eve. Now do you understand?" With another gasp Mrs. Bensusan threw up her fat hands and raised her eyes to the ceiling. "As I am a Christian woman, sir," she cried, "I am as innocent as a babe unborn!" "Of what?" asked Lucian sharply. "Of the murder!" wept Mrs. Bensusan, now dissolved in tears. "Rhoda said----" "I don't want to hear what Rhoda said," interrupted Lucian impatiently, "and I am not accusing you of the murder. But--your house is at the back of No. 13." "Yes," replied Mrs. Bensusan, weeping like a Niobe. "And a fence divides your yard from that of No. 13?" "I won't contradict you, sir--it do." "And there is a passage leading from Jersey Street into your yard?" "There is, Mr. Denzil; it's useful for the trades-people." "And I daresay useful to others," said Lucian drily. "Now, Mrs. Bensusan, do you know if any lady was in the habit of passing through that passage at night?" Before Mrs. Bensusan could answer the door was dashed open, and Rhoda, the red-headed, darted into the room.