in the court
room when Mr. Turnbull died and I'm naturally interested."

"Naturally," agreed Kent with a commiserating glance at his clerk; the
latter's wife threatened to be loquacious, and he judged from her looks
that it was a habit which had grown with the years. As a general rule he
abhorred talkative women, but--"And what took you to the police court on
Tuesday morning?"

"Why, me and Mr. Sylvester have our little differences like other
married couples," she explained. "And sometimes we ask the Court to
settle them." She caught Kent's look of impatience and hurried her
speech. "The burglar case came on just after ours was remanded, and
seeing the McIntyre twins, whom I've often read about, I just thought
I'd stay. Let me have that paper a minute."

"Certainly," Kent gave her the newspaper and she ran her finger down
the columns devoted to the Turnbull case with a slowness that set his
already excited nerves on edge.

"Here's what I'm looking for," she exclaimed triumphantly, a minute
later, and pointed to the paragraph:

"Mrs. Margaret Perry Brewster, the fascinating widow, added
nothing material to the case in her testimony, and she was
quickly excused, after stating that she was told about the
tragedy by the McIntyre twins upon their return from the
Police Court."

"Well what of it?" asked Kent.

"Only this, Mr. Kent;" Mrs. Sylvester enjoyed nothing so much as talking
to a good looking man, especially in the presence of her husband, and
she could not refrain from a triumphant look at him as she went on with
her remarks. "There was a female sitting on the bench next to me in
Court; in fact, she and I were the only women on that side, and I kinder
noticed her on that account, and then I saw she was all done up in
veils--I couldn't see her face.

"I caught her peering this way and that during the burglar's hearing;
I don't reckon she could see well through all the veils. Now, don't get
impatient, Mr. Kent; I'm getting to my point--that woman sitting next to
me in the police court was the widow Brewster."

"What!" Kent laughed unbelievingly. "Oh, come, you are mistaken."

"I am not, sir." Mrs. Sylvester spoke with conviction. "Now, why does
Mrs. Brewster declare at the coroner's inquest that she only heard of
the Turnbull tragedy from the McIntyre twins on their return home?"

"You must be mistaken," argued Kent.

"Why, you admit yourself that the woman was so swathed in veils that you