"Oh-h, isn't that horrible!" Suddenly she turned and fled through the front part of the house to the street door, that opened upon the little alley.

She looked wildly about her.

Directly across the way a butcher's boy was getting into his two-wheeled cart drawn up in front of the opposite house, while near by a peddler of wild game was coming down the street, a brace of ducks in his hand.
"Oh, say--say," gasped Trina, trying to get her voice, "say, come over here quick." The butcher's boy paused, one foot on the wheel, and stared.

Trina beckoned frantically.
"Come over here, come over here quick." The young fellow swung himself into his seat.
"What's the matter with that woman ?" he said, half aloud.
"There's a murder been done," cried Trina, swaying in the doorway.
The young fellow drove away, his head over his shoulder, staring at Trina with eyes that were fixed and absolutely devoid of expression.
"What's the matter with that woman ?" he said again to himself as he turned the corner.
Trina wondered why she didn't scream, how she could keep from it--how, at such a moment as this, she could remember that it was improper to make a disturbance and create a scene in the street.

The peddler of wild game was looking at her suspiciously.