garden. That is the kind of face it is. When I saw her—I happened on her unawares—she covered up quick, and then she said, ‘Now, Mrs. Merrilow, you know at last why it is that I never raise my veil.’ ”
“Do you know anything about her history?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Did she give references when she came?”
“No, sir, but she gave hard cash, and plenty of it. A quarter’s rent right down on the table in advance and no arguing about terms. In these times a poor woman like me can’t afford to turn down a chance like that.”
“Did she give any reason for choosing your house?”
“Mine stands well back from the road and is more private than most. Then, again, I only take the one, and I have no family of my own. I reckon she had tried others and found that mine suited her best. It’s privacy she is after, and she is ready to pay for it.”
“You say that she never showed her face from first to last save on the one accidental occasion. Well, it is a very remarkable story, most remarkable, and I don’t wonder that you want it examined.”
“I don’t, Mr. Holmes. I am quite satisfied so long as I get my rent. You could not have a quieter lodger, or one who gives less trouble.”
“Then what has brought matters to a head?”
“Her health, Mr. Holmes. She seems to be wasting away. And there’s something terrible on her mind. ‘Murder!’ she cries. ‘Murder!’ And once I heard her: ‘You cruel beast! You monster!’ she cried. It was in the night, and it fair rang through the house and sent the shivers through me. So I went to her in the morning. ‘ Mrs. Ronder,’ I says, ‘if you have anything