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"Mistaken? No! master, I know Harborough's voice, and his figure, aye, and his step as well as I know my own fireside," declared Mrs. Hamthwaite. "Of course I know it were Harborough no doubt on't!" "How are you sure that this was the evening of the murder?" asked Brereton. "Can you prove that it was?" "Easy!" said Mrs. Hamthwaite.
And Brereton, genuinely interested, took an equally long look at her; and saw a woman who was obviously very old but whose face was eager, intelligent, and even vivacious. As this queer old face turned from one to the other, its wrinkles smoothed out into a smile. "You'll be wondering what I've got to tell, love," said Mrs. Hamthwaite, turning to Avice.
"Well," remarked Brereton presently, "we're very much obliged to you, ma'am, and I'm sure you won't have any objection to telling all this again at the proper time and place, eh?" "Eh, bless you, no!" answered Mrs. Hamthwaite. "I'll tell it wherever you like, master before Lawyer Tallington, or the magistrates, or the crowner, or anybody!
"I only hope it is!" "Certain to be," he replied. "What else could it be?" "There are so many strange things to tell about, just now," she remarked. "Besides, if old Mrs. Hamthwaite knows anything, why hasn't she let me know until tonight?" "Oh, there's no accounting for that!" said Brereton. "Old women have their own way of doing things.
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