The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1906-11-04

and knees in his zeal.
Nor was this search fruitless. for he fished
out from under the lounge a small object
evidently waited there by the draught from
the open window. One glance at it and
he was telephoning hurriedly to the Morgue.
the Coroner, the Newgrove Crematory.
so you came out here to find a reason
Tor what o think happened there?" said
Lawyer Helpham obviously.
L try the longer way, sir, when l find
the shorter way blocked, replied Cronkite.
But IL seems incredible--"
Nothing is incredible to the stupidity
or indifference Of our average public Official,
sir. Having pronounced the case one OF
suicide, our Coroner saw no need OF police
precautions. @
so when Mr.. Gustavus Briare asked for
an order for the body, stating that he had
been on friendly terms with the young man
and would save him from the disgrace of
potter's field, he gave IL to him at once.
nor did he see any possible reason for delay
when Briare avowed his preference for
cremation.
-What there was left of Thomas Knott
was a little jar OF ashes before I had time
to act; but II there had been time, what could
I have done2'
Il don't know admitted the lawyer.
Neither charity nor cremation is neces-
sarily a cloak for crime. But why, then,
were your suspicious aroused?'
"A trifing discrepancy in conditions, sir.
began Cronkite reluctantly, which I hardly
feel
The door opened with a snap and closed
with a bang. and a fierce looking old lady
stood in the Office.
well, Helpham," she demanded. shave
you found your quarry2'
Not yet, Mrs. Neames, though the in
quiry Is progressing satisfactorily. II you
would only be q little more frank with
me-
God a mercy, I've told you what I want,
haven't /? You'll learn the rest when your
inquiry arrives satisfactorily-the week
after doomsday, I suppose. But i cant
drive myself distracted with you internal
legal delays. What I zane in here for was
to ask whether you have found any decent
a to do that cataloguing for me-"
Mr.. Helpham took a divers breath.
Il was just negotiating with him now
! he replied. mr. Cronkite is a competent,
worthy man out OF employment and glad
to ind a home in town. / recommend him
unreservedly.'
you look as if you would keep your
eyes open and your mouth shut reflected
Mrs. Neames. I'm try you
-when?' asked Cronkite.
"Now."
And as the pair walked briskly away,
Mr.. Helpham shrugged his shoulders, as
IL discarding the burden Of possible conse-
quences.
A silent drive in an old fashioned carriage
! brought Cronkite to a large but somewhat
decayed house surrounded by extensive
grounds on the verge Of the town. With
an imperious gesture, Mrs. Neames led
! the way through a broad central corridor
to a library in the rear, in which thousands
Of volumes were disorderedly stored.
your meals will be sent to you You will
sleep in the adjoining ROOM" she said.
If you want anything, ring that bell. just
carry on that work over there, at the rate OF,
say, eight hours a day, and you will be pro-
crossing satisfactorily, as Mr.. Helpham
says" With a smile and a courtesy, alike
/ hooking, she closed the door.
Cronkite walked over to the desk which
Mrs. Neames had indicated. 1t enclosed q
typewriting machine. On the side lay
a pile of manuscript covered with dust.
Cronkite picked up the topmoet sheet.
Even in the half light he could discern in
the writing the peculiarities he had noted
in the specimen submitted by Mr.. Helpham,
the specimen which he firmly believed
! Thomas Knott had written.
There could not we'll be a more unimagina-
tive looking man than Cronkite. Medita-
ton and repression had combined to give
his face a stolid cast. And yet as he gazed
on the evidence that one who was now
even less than the lust that covered the
work had once lived in that very ROOM
he stood intent, alert, exalted.
Then as il to a word Of command he
| crossed over to the middle bookcase. He
opened the drawer beneath the shelves.
He drew out from a tumble OF odds and
ends a sheet Of heavy brown paper, all
rumpled as il thrust there by a harsh, cruel
hand, and held it to the light.
T. was a rough, crayon sketch OF a charm
ing young woman; fair haired, blue eyed,
| with pink and white complexion. With a
start, Cronkite came back to his normal
| self, recognizing the instructive power which
once and again, at d times, unsummoned
and unsummonable, had rewarded his in
tense interest, his absorbing thought.
1 Yes, there COuiu Dc no uOuub ~ w. AHc
inference he had drawn from the false
mustache of light, flowing hair brushed
of in a deadly struggle and waited by the
draught under the old lounge. there 10
abide in safety his scrutiny. was true.
Who, then. had been this young girl
for whom Mrs. Neamee. despite brus TIE
manner and unjust treatment, must have
really cared?
WHY had she been constrained to leave
such peaceful surroundings so abruptly
hat her work still awaited her return. as
II she had just stepped out?
And who was 1t who had tracked out her
refuge, penetrated her disguise and muir
dered her in such a way as to give the i'm
preston OF suicide?
Upon the first two questions depended
the solution OF the third, and their answers
came both swiftly and unexpectedly.
The day waped, the evening advanced.
and Cronkite, having eaten his solitary
dinner and written his notes, went phil
osophicaIly 10 bed and asleep in the cosey