We just want to ask her a few questions about an old murder case. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. ” “And no one else—has a key?” “I believe,” she said, “that that man must have one. There were two sisters, you know. "How do you know that?" rejoined Jack.
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