I hope the
criminal will be captured.'

'I hope so too; do you know who he is?'

'I? my dear lady, how should I know?'

'I thought Mrs Pansey might have told you!' said Miss Whichello, coolly.
'She knows all that goes on, and a good deal that doesn't. But you can
tell her that both I and Captain Pendle are innocent, although I _did_
visit the dead-house, and although he _was_ on Southberry Heath when the
crime was committed.'

'You are very severe, dear lady!' said Cargrim, rising to take his
leave, for he was anxious to extricate himself from his very
uncomfortable and undignified position.

'Solomon was even more severe, Mr Cargrim. He said, "Burning lips and a
wicked heart are like a potsherd covered with silver dross." I fancy
there were Mrs Panseys in those days, Mr Cargrim.'

In the face of this choice proverb Mr Cargrim beat a hasty retreat.
Altogether Miss Whichello was too much for him; and for once in his life
he was at a loss how to gloss over his defeat. Not until he was in
Tinkler's office did he recover his feeling of superiority. With a
man--especially with a social inferior--he felt that he could deal; but
who can contend with a woman's tongue? It is her sword and shield; her
mouth is her bow; her words are the arrows; and the man who hopes to
withstand such an armoury of deadly weapons is a superfine idiot.
Cargrim, not being one, had run away; but in his rage at being compelled
to take flight, he almost exceeded Mrs Pansey in hating the cause of it.
Miss Whichello had certainly gained a victory, but she had also made an
enemy.

'So the inquest is over, Mr Inspector,' said the ruffled Cargrim,
smoothing his plumes.

'Over and done with, sir; and the corpse is now six feet under earth.'

'A sad end, Mr Inspector, and a sad life. To be a wanderer on the face
of the earth; to be violently removed when sinning; to be buried at the
expense of an alien parish; what a fate for a baptised Christian.'

'Don't you take on so, Mr Cargrim, sir!' said Tinkler, grimly. 'There
was precious little religion about Jentham, and he was buried in a much
better fashion than he deserved, and not by the parish either.'

Cargrim looked up suddenly. 'Who paid for his funeral then?'

'A charitable la--person, sir, whose name I am not at liberty to tell
anyone, at her own request.'

'At her own request,' said the chaplain, noting Tinkler's slips and
putting two and two together with wondrous rapidity. 'Ah, Miss Whi