When I sat down with her and we began to chat, I learned that she was
a typist, employed in a great insurance office in Cornhill. She was
quietly but smartly dressed, with neat stockings and shoes, and I
confess I rather liked her from the first.
I explained that I was a journalist and worked at home most part of
the day, when suddenly she caused me to start by glancing at the paper
and remarking:
“That’s a very mysterious affair, the murder in the street in
Bloomsbury Square! Have you seen it? What do you think of it?”