"You know me--"
"Mr. Jennings, as was in the case of my pore, dear, dead lady.
Of course I knows you, sir, and the fact as you are police
makes me shudder to think as Thomas is jailed for drink. Wait
one moment, sir. I'll hurry on a petticoat and shawl. How
good of you to come, sir."
When the window shut down, Jennings bent towards the
inspector, who was crouching on the other side of the steps.
"This woman is innocent," he whispered. "She knows nothing,
else she would not admit us so quickly."
"It may be a blind, Jennings. She may have gone to give the
gang warning, you know."
"I don't know," retorted the detective sharply. "I am quite
sure that Mrs. Barnes doesn't even know her husband Thomas is
one of the lot. I don't care if she does give warning either,
if your surmise is correct. All our men are round the house,
and if any of the gang escape we can collar them."
"That is supposing there isn't another exit from the
unfinished house," muttered Twining, anxious to have the last
word.
Mrs. Barnes appeared at the door in a brilliant red petticoat,
a white woollen shawl, and the cap aforesaid. Her feet were
thrust into carpet slippers and she carried a candle. "An' it
is good of you, sir, to come 'ere and tell me that Thomas is
in jail, he being-"
"We can talk of that inside," said the detective, pushing past
her. "I suppose you don't mind my friend coming in."
Mrs. Barnes almost dropped when she saw the second person,
especially when she noted the uniform.
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