Manchester Democrat. [volume] (Manchester, Iowa) 1875-1930, 1899-09-27

murder2" he explains, with ghoulish
appreciation of the unenviable notoriety
that Norcombe had suddenly achieved.
"Have you heard about it, sir2"
ooh, yes; l saw something in the pa
pers-Mr. Marsden, the old Britisher,
at the country place he called The
Grange"
"Yep; that's right-old Marsden,
close listed old Marsden. He was great
miser, he was, sir. If young Marsden
comes into the property, things will be
better, but he's wild devil"
"Son7"
"EhT"
"Marsden's SOM"
"No; picked him up somewhere.
Perhaps he is. You never know"
"Who murdered him3'
Dunno. Like to shake hands with
him."
"Indeedl You seem an amiable kind
of individual.
"Bahl Good radiance to bad rubbish.
was goin along all right till he raised
my rent 30 that couldn't make both
ends meet, and it's hard times, sir,
with such bad winter. I mind me,
sir, that we never had such winter
since 81"
Eyes, yes; you told me about that
and the COWS. Now, as to this murder.
Have the police no clew3'
mo; can't have any. It was done
by ghosts The Grange is haunted"
ooh, indeedl Then you'd like to
shake hands with ghostf"
The driver shivered and glanced half
apprehensively over his shoulder. Then,
sinking his voice to mysterious key,
he continued, "Some one went into the
house and murdered old Marsden and
never came out again, and he's not
there now, and no one but ghost could
do that"
REALITY"
"And I expect we'll have one Of
them clever detectives comm down
from Chicago, but he won't find out
anything, cause it was done by ghost,
and no detectives can catch ghosts.
Whoal"
The horse is pulled up with q sudden
jerk
"This is Norcombe. The Palace hotel,
eh, SIR"
eyes"
"If you'd like to have look at The
Grange, it's about quarter of mile
, up on the right"
"Thanks. I'll stroll up in the morn
ing. Good night"
"Good night.
Herbert Darrent climbs out Of the
dogcart. and the driver gathers up the
reins, sets the horses head homeward,
and the animal canters off as lively az
ever.
The man stands at the door Of the
village hotel in the rudy light stream
ing through its short crimson curtains
until the vehicle is out of sight and
then turns and walks thoughtfully
down the main street until he reaches
q cottage dignified by the legend "Po-
lice Station" inscribed in large black
letters on white board-primitive
abode Of the law as represented in the
person Of young policeman in very
badly fitting uniform who is just quit.
ting the house and smartly salutes Of
he opens the gate.
care you Mr.. Dobsonf"
"No, sir; he's inside"
"Off dutyf"
eyes; it's my round"
"Then won't detain you, but
shall want to see you in the morning,
early"
every good, sir. I'll be here at
sharp. Good night"
"Good night.
"Smart young fellow that" Darrent
observes to himself as he pushes oper
the door. "Thank goodness they're moi
all so old fogyish as my prosy driveri"
The door opens right into the kitchen
Of the cottage, where Dobson. chief o.
police of Norcombe, is lounging in hi
chair before the fire. The police care
Of the day are over, and he is smoking
an exceedingly dirty clay pipe and rev
cling in the luxury Of purely ANNA
idleness as only man of absolutely en-
feebled intellect can. Still, he can b
pompous at times, as BELTS one VIII
holds and has held for q round dozel
years the important post Of chief Of pc
lice Of Norcombe, an Office that Is nttl
more than sinecure, and, removin
his pipe from his mouth, he gazes q
his visitor with an expression of min
gled annoyance at being disturbed an
the Importance that BELTS his position
"Well," he inquiries after examinin
Darrent from head to foot, whats til
matter with yous''
"You are Mr.. Dobson, believed"
Mr.. Dobson mods.
"Policeman7"
eyes; chief Of police Of Norcombe.
"Well, it's all the same" Darre1
;ejoins "I'm an officer from Chicago
Perhaps you have heard my name
Herbert Darrent"
"No; never heard Of 1t BEFORE" 81
swers Mr.. Dobson, at once conclusivel
proving himself to be an idiot Of the fir
water by confessing that he is una
quainted with the name Of the ma
n nk11i,