prim, with whitened stone steps and little groups of aproned
women gossiping at the doors. Halfway down, Lestrade stopped and
tapped at a door, which was opened by a small servant girl. Miss
Cushing was sitting in the front room, into which we were
ushered. She was a placid-faced woman, with large, gentle eyes,
and grizzled hair curving down over her temples on each side. A
worked antimacassar lay upon her lap and a basket of coloured
silks stood upon a stool beside her.

"They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things," said she as
Lestrade entered. "I wish that you would take them away
altogether."

"So I shall, Miss Cushing. I only kept them here until my
friend, Mr. Holmes, should have seen them in your presence."

"Why in my presence, sir?"

"In case he wished to ask any questions."

"What is the use of asking me questions when I tell you I know
nothing whatever about it?"

"Quite so, madam," said Holmes in his soothing way. "I have no
doubt that you have been annoyed more than enough already over
this business."

"Indeed I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired life.
It is something new for me to see my name in the papers and to
find the police in my house. I won't have those things I here,