“What if I am?” snarled the woman, seizing her bottle.  “You don’t pay fur it.  Yes, I’m drunk.  I’m allays drunk.  I was drunk last night, an’ the night before, an’ I’m a-goin’ to git drunk to-night”—­with an impressive look at the bottle—­“an’ to-morrow night, an’ I’ll keep it up till I’m rottin’ in the grave.”

Calton shuddered, so full of hatred and suppressed malignity was her voice, but the detective merely shrugged his shoulders.

“More fool you,” he said, briefly.  “Come now, on the night the ‘Queen,’ as you call her, died, there was a gentleman came to see her?”

“So she said,” retorted Mother Guttersnipe; “but, lor, I dunno anythin’, I were drunk.”

“Who said—­the ‘Queen?’”

“No, my gran’darter, Sal.  The ‘Queen,’ sent ’er to fetch the toff to see ’er cut ’er lucky.  Wanted ’im to look at ’is work, I s’pose, cuss ’im; and Sal prigged some paper from my box,” she shrieked, indignantly; “prigged it w’en I were too drunk to stop ’er?”

The detective glanced at Calton, who nodded to him with a gratified expression on his face.  They were right as to the paper having been stolen from the Villa at Toorak.

“You did not see the gentleman who came?” said Kilsip, turning again to the old hag.

“Not I, cuss you,” she retorted, politely. “’E came about ’arf-past one in the morning, an’ you don’t expects we can stop up all night, do ye?”

“Half-past one o’clock,” repeated Calton, quickly.  “The very time.  Is this true?”

“Wish I may die if it ain’t,” said Mother Guttersnipe, graciously.  “My gran’darter Sal kin tell ye.”

“Where is she?” asked Kilsip, sharply.

At this the old woman threw back her head, and howled dismay.

“She’s ’ooked it,” she wailed, drumming on the ground with her feet.  “Gon’ an’ left ‘er pore old gran’ an’ joined the Army, cuss ’em, a-comin’ round an’ a-spilin’ business.”

Here the woman on the bed broke out again—­

“Since the flowers o’ the forest are a’ wed awa.”

“’Old yer jawr,” yelled Mother Guttersnipe, rising, and making a dart at the bed.  “I’ll choke the life out ye, s’elp me.  D’y want me to murder ye, singin’ ’em funeral things?”

Meanwhile the detective was talking rapidly to Mr. Calton.

“The only person who can prove Mr. Fitzgerald was here between one and two o’clock,” he said, quickly, “is Sal Rawlins, as everyone else seems to have been drunk or asleep.  As she has joined the Salvation Army, I’ll go to the barracks the first thing in the morning and look for her.”

“I hope you’ll find her,” answered Calton, drawing a long breath.  “A man’s life hangs on her evidence.”

They turned to go, Calton having first given Mother Guttersnipe some loose silver, which she seized on with an avaricious clutch.

“You’ll drink it, I suppose?” said the barrister, shrinking back from her.