The crowd, increasing each minute, pressed against the still locked front doors.  Those in the van flattened their noses against the glass in grotesque fashion.

“Hurry and get the police!” begged Darcy.

Casey was about to telephone, when Tremlain, who had gone out into the alley from the side door, hurried back to report: 

“Here comes a cop now.  Saw the crowd I guess.  We can just tell him what we saw, Casey, and then slide along.  I’m late as it is.”

“So’m I!”

The policeman, his heavy-soled shoes creaking importantly, came along the street, hurrying not in the least.  He knew whatever it was would keep for him.

“What’s the row?” demanded Patrolman Mulligan.

“Looks like the old lady was murdered,” Casey answered.  “I was just going to telephone to headquarters.”  He told briefly what he knew, which was corroborated by Tremlain, then the two left to cover their routes, after giving their addresses to the policeman.

The crowd grew larger.  From outside it looked like a convention of umbrellas.  The rain still drizzled and turned to steam and mist as it warmed on the many bodies in the throng—­a mist that mingled with that of the rain itself.  In spite of the storm, the crowd grew and remained.  Those who might be late at bench, lathe or loom unheeded the passing of time.  It was not every day they could be so close to a murder.

The crowd filled the entire space in front of the jewelry store.  The bolder spirits rattled the knob of the locked portals, and tapped on the glass that was now misty and grimy from hands and noses pressed against it.  The crowd began to surge into the alley, whence a side door gave entrance into Mrs. Darcy’s place.  Some even ventured to press into the store itself—­the store where the silent figure lay huddled between the showcases.

“Now then slide out of here—­take a walk!” advised Mulligan, as he shoved out some of the men and boys who had entered.  “Get out!  You can read all about it in the papers.  The reporters’ll be here soon enough,” he added with a wink at Darcy.  “I’ll lock the door and keep the crowd out.  The sleuths can knock when they get here.  Where’s your ’phone.  I’ll have to report to the station.”

Darcy pointed to the telephone, and the policeman, showing no more than a passing interest in the body, at which he glanced casually as he passed, called up his precinct and reported, being told to remain on guard until relieved.

“How’d it happen?” he asked, as he came back from the instrument and leaned against a showcase containing much glittering silver.  “Who did it—­when—­how?”

“I haven’t the least idea,” replied Darcy, turning away so as not to see the faces now pressed against both the front and side doors, each being locked from the inside.  “I found her just as she is now, and called in the milkmen, who happened to be passing.  I had come down to the store early to do a little repair job, and the first thing I saw was—­her!”