"Not I, cuss you," she retorted, politely. "'E came about 'alf-past one in the morning, an' you don't expects we can stop up all night, blarst ye."
"Half-past one o'clock," repeated Calton, quickly. "The very time. Is this true?"
"Wish I may die if it ain't," said Mother Guttersnipe, graciously. "My gran'darter Sal kin tell ye."
"Where is she?" asked Kilsip, sharply.
At this the woman threw back her head, and howled in a dismal manner.
"She's 'ooked it," she wailed, drumming on the ground with her feet. "Gon' an' left 'er pore old gran' an' joined the army, cuss 'em, a-comin' round an' a-spilin' business."
Here the woman on the bed broke out again—
"Since the flowers o' the forest are a' wed awa'."
"Fur G—'s sake 'old yer jawr," yelled Mother Guttersnipe, rising and making a dart at the bed. "I'll choke the life out of ye, s'elp me. D'ye want me to murder ye, singin' 'em blarsted funeral things?"
Meanwhile the detective was talking rapidly to Mr. Calton.
"The only person who can prove Mr. Fitzgerald was here between one and two o'clock," he said, quickly, "is Sal Rawlins, as everyone else seems to have been drunk or asleep. As she has joined the Salvation Army, I'll go to the barracks the first thing in the morning and look for her."
"I hope you'll find her," answered Calton, drawing a long breath. "A man's life hangs on her evidence."
They turned to go, Calton having first given Mother Guttersnipe some loose silver, which she siezed with an avaricious clutch.
"You'll drink it, I suppose?" said the barrister, shrinking back from her.
"Werry likely," retorted the hag, with a repulsive grin, tying the money up in a piece of her dress, which she tore off for the purpose. "I'm a fortin' to the public 'ouse, I am, an' it's the only pleasure I 'ave in my life, cuss it."
The sight of money had a genial effect on her nature, for she held the candle at the head of the stairs as they went down, so that they should not break their heads. As
