Part 24 (2/2)

”No she won't,” interrupted the detective, sharply. ”I've come on business.”

The old woman started at this, and looked keenly at him from under her bushy eyebrows.

”What 'av the boys been up to now?” she asked, harshly. ”There ain't no swag 'ere this time.”

Just then the sick woman, who had been restlessly tossing on the bed, commenced singing a s.n.a.t.c.h of the quaint old ballad of ”Barbara Allen”--

”Oh, mither, mither, mak' my bed, An' mak' it saft an' narrow; Since my true love died for me to-day I'll die for him to-morrow.”

”Shut up, cuss you!” yelled Mother Guttersnipe, viciously, ”or I'll knock yer bloomin' 'ead orf,” and she seized the square bottle as if to carry out her threat; but, altering her mind, she poured some of its contents into the cup, and drank it off with avidity.

”The woman seems ill,” said Calton, casting a shuddering glance at the stretcher.

”So she are,” growled Mother Guttersnipe, angrily. ”She ought to be in Yarrer Bend, she ought, instead of stoppin' 'ere an' singin' them beastly things, which makes my blood run cold. Just 'ear 'er,” she said, viciously, as the sick woman broke out once more--

”Oh, little did my mither think, When first she cradled me, I'd die sa far away fra home, Upon the gallows tree.”

”Yah!” said the old woman, hastily, drinking some more gin out of the cup. ”She's allays a-talkin' of dyin' an' gallers, as if they were nice things to jawr about.”

”Who was that woman who died here three or four weeks ago?” asked Kilsip, sharply.

”'Ow should I know?” retorted Mother Guttersnipe, sullenly. ”I didn't kill 'er, did I? It were the brandy she drank; she was allays drinkin', cuss her.”

”Do you remember the night she died?”

”No, I don't,” answered the beldame, frankly. ”I were drunk--blind, bloomin', blazin' drunk--s'elp me.”

”You're always drunk,” said Kilsip.

”What if I am?” snarled the woman, seizing her bottle. ”You don't pay fur it. Yes, I'm drunk. I'm allays drunk. I was drunk last night, an'

the night before, an' I'm a-goin' to git drunk to-night”--with an impressive look at the bottle--”an' to-morrow night, an' I'll keep it up till I'm rottin' in the grave.”

Calton shuddered, so full of hatred and suppressed malignity was her voice, but the detective merely shrugged his shoulders.

”More fool you,” he said, briefly. ”Come now, on the night the 'Queen,'

as you call her, died, there was a gentleman came to see her?”

”So she said,” retorted Mother Guttersnipe; ”but, lor, I dunno anythin', I were drunk.”

”Who said--the 'Queen?'”

”No, my gran'darter, Sal. The 'Queen,' sent 'er to fetch the toff to see 'er cut 'er lucky. Wanted 'im to look at 'is work, I s'pose, cuss 'im; and Sal prigged some paper from my box,” she shrieked, indignantly; ”prigged it w'en I were too drunk to stop 'er?”

The detective glanced at Calton, who nodded to him with a gratified expression on his face. They were right as to the paper having been stolen from the Villa at Toorak.

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