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A Bit of a Mystery


by Johnson B. Turner


A woman past sixty, but hale vigorous, called on Varnoe one day on a singular errand. She was the owner of a number of small tenements in Bedford street, and always went in person to collect the rent, being too miserly to pay an agent to attend to it. (As Varnoe did not give her name in his printed sketches, I shall call her Mrs. Sordid, as the most appropriate name for a person of her avaricious disposition.)

The detective was at his rooms when she called, and she at once stated her business.

“There is a bit of mystery at my residence which needs looking into,” said she, her little black eyes twinkling like those of a rat, which animal she so closely resembled.

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