The news of the arrest had spread quickly, and folk had come running to get more particulars.
And amongst the women and children and loafers that were crowding around was Crone's housekeeper, a great, heavy, rough-haired Irishwoman called Nance Maguire, and she was waving her big arms and shaking her fists at a couple of policemen, whom she was adjuring to bring out the murderer, so that she might do justice on him then and there--all this being mingled with encomiums on the victim.
"The best man that ever lived!" she was screaming at the top of her voice.

"The best and kindest creature ever set foot in your murdering town! And didn't I know he was to be done to death by some of ye?
Didn't he tell me himself that there was one would give his two eyes to be seeing his corpse?
And if ye've laid hands on him that did it, bring him out to me, so, and I'll--" Mr.Lindsey laid a quiet hand on the woman's arm and twisted her round in the direction of her cottage.
"Hold your wisht, good wife, and go home!" he whispered to her.

"And if you know anything, keep your tongue still till I come to see you.

Be away, now, and leave it to me." I don't know how it was, but Nance Maguire, after a sharp look at Mr.
Lindsey, turned away as meekly as a lamb, and went off, tearful enough, but quiet, down the street, followed by half the rabble, while Mr.
Lindsey, Chisholm, and myself turned into the police-station.

And there we met Mr.Murray, who wagged his head at us as if he were very well satisfied with something.
"Not much doubt about this last affair, anyhow," said he, as he took us into his office.