an. "What do you want?"

"A little information."

"You're a reporter!" accused the sharp-faced woman. "And let me tell
you that I don't want nothing more to say to no reporters."

But Ashton-Kirk soothingly denied the accusation.

"I dare say you've been bothered to death by newspaper men," spoke he.
"But we assure you that--"

"It don't make no difference," stated the woman, rearing her head
until her long chin pointed straight at them. "I ain't got nothing to
say to nobody. I don't want to get into no trouble."

"The only way you can possibly get into trouble in this matter," said
the investigator, "is to conceal what you know. An attempt to hide
facts is always considered by the police as a sort of admission of
complicity."

The woman at this lifted a corner of a soiled apron and applied it to
her eyes.

"Things is come to a nice pass," she said, vainly endeavoring to
squeeze a tear from eyes to which such things had long been strangers,
"when a respectable woman can't mind her own business in her own
house."

At this point, Pendleton, who looked discreetly away, caught the
rustle of a crisp bill; and when Mrs. Marx spoke again, her tone had
undergone a decided change.

"But of course," she said, "if the law asks me anything, I must do
the best I can. I've kept a rooming house for a good many years now,
gentlemen, and this is the first time I have had any notoriety. It is,
I assure you."

As Ashton-Kirk had seen at a second glance, Mrs. Marx was a lady fully
competent to confront any situation that might arise; so he wasted no
time in soothing her injured feelings.

"We desire any information that you can give us regarding your lodger,
Antonio Spatola," said he. "Tell us all you know about him."

"He wasn't a bad-hearted young man," said the landlady, "but for all
that I wish I'd never seen him. If I hadn't then I'd never had this
disgrace come on me."

Here she made another effort with the corner of her apron; but it was
even more unsuccessful than the first. She gave it up and went on
acidly.

"Mr. Spatola came here almost three years ago. He was engaged in one
of the vaudeville theaters near here--in the orchestra--and he rented
my second story front at six dollars a week. Except for the fact that
he _would_ play awfully shivery music at all hours of the night, I was
glad to have him. He was quiet and polite; he paid regularly and,"
smoothing back the untidy hair, "he gave a kind of tone to th