Detective Ashton-Kirk (Boxed-Set). John T. McIntyre

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      The nervous young coroner seemed to be relieved to hear this. He waved his hand in a gesture that might have meant anything and turned to the stolid looking, elderly man who accompanied them. They conversed for a few moments; the stolid man seemed to be explaining something carefully, to which Stillman listened with the utmost attention. Osborne bent his head toward Ashton-Kirk.

      "The old party is a left-over in the coroner's office, of many years' standing,"said the detective. "He knows the ropes and puts the newly elected ones on to the points of the game."

      Stillman finally turned; there was an added importance in his manner, and his nervousness had also increased.

      "Mr. Osborne,"said he, "please let us have what facts the police have gathered."

      "That won't take long,"said Osborne. "Just before daylight—three o'clock, I think she said—the woman whom Hume employed to scrub the passage-way and stairs got here. She has almost a dozen such jobs in the neighborhood, and as she must have them all done before business begins, she's compelled to get at it early. She has a key to the street door; so she let herself in, came up these stairs and started for the far end of the hall, where there is a water tap. She didn't notice anything unusual until she returned with her pail filled; then she saw this door,"pointing to that of the store room, "standing open."

      "I see,"said Mr. Stillman; and he gazed very hard at the door.

      "Hume, according to the scrub-woman's story,"resumed the big man, "was a queer kind of a chap. You didn't always know just how to take him. He's lapped up a good bit of booze first and last and sometimes he's come home pretty well settled. So when the woman sees the door open, this is the first thing that enters her mind. But to make sure, she goes into the room and calls him by name. The room's dark and there's just a touch of daylight coming in through the open door leading into the front room. So as there was no answer, she takes a peep in there and sees him on the floor."

      "And is that all she can tell?"

      "Yes; except that she bolted down the stairs in a hurry, met Paulson here,"with a nod to the policeman, who had now discarded his cigar, "and told him what she had seen."

      "What is her name and address?"

      Osborne consulted a note book.

      "Mrs. Dwyer, 71 Cormant Street,"read he.

      "Please make a note of that,"said Stillman to his clerk. "And send for her later in the day."Then turning once more to Osborne, he continued. "Before doing anything else we will endeavor to find out how the criminal gained an entrance."

      "That's the way with these Johnnie Newcomers,"grumbled Osborne as Stillman turned once more to his aide. "They want to do it all. Why don't he go in, look at the body and leave the police business to the police."

      "Too much earnestness may have its drawbacks,"said Ashton-Kirk, "but it is to be preferred to the perfunctory methods of the accustomed official, for all."

      "From your angle, maybe so,"said Osborne with a frown; "but not from ours."

      Stillman began rubbing his palms together with what was intended to be business-like briskness; he stepped up and down the dark hall, peering right and left. But for all his assumption of confidence, his nervousness was very apparent.

      "You say,"said he to Osborne, "that the scrubwoman unlocked the street door. Very good. That shows that it was fast at all events. Now what other means are there of entering the building?"

      "None, except by the fire-escapes and windows. But the windows on this floor are all secured except for those at the front."

      "Except for those at the front."The young coroner paused in his hand rubbing. "Would it not have been possible for the person or persons who did this murder to enter by one of those?"

      "It would have been possible,"returned the big headquarters man, "but no sane person would do it. They'd have to swarm up the face of the building in full view of anyone that might be passing at the time."

      "Exactly,"said Stillman, stiffening under what he was half inclined to consider a rebuff. "Well, that eliminates that possibility. Now to the next one. Who occupied the building besides the murdered man?"

      "A man named Berg keeps a delicatessen store on the first floor. His place in no way communicates with the rest of the building. The third and fourth floors are used for storage purposes by a furrier. Except in the spring and fall, so Mrs. Dwyer tells me, he seldom visits the building."

      "Is there any way of getting in from the top of the house—the roof?"asked the coroner.

      A look of something like respect came into Osborne's face. Clearly the question was one which he considered worth while.

      "There is a scuttle,"he replied. "The bolt is rusted and broken; it has probably not been fastened for months, perhaps years."

      "Now we are beginning to come at something,"cried Stillman, well pleased. "In all probability the assassin entered by way of the scuttle."He turned as though for the approval of the stolid-faced man. "Eh, Curran? What do you think of that?"

      "It looks very like it, Mr. Stillman."

      "At all events,"spoke the coroner, "we will now examine the rooms."

      He advanced and tried the door of the show room.

      "Ah, locked!"said he. He turned and entered the store room, the others following. The gas was still burning; the coroner stuck a pair of big-lensed eyeglasses upon his rather high nose and gazed about him intently.

      "There seems to be nothing of an informing nature here,"said he, after a time. "Where is the body?"

      Osborne led the way into the front room. After a glance at the ghastly, huddled figure upon the carpet near the desk, the coroner took a careful survey of the apartment.

      "Did Mr. Hume employ any person to assist him?"he asked.

      "The scrub-woman told me that there was a young man here always when she came during the business day for her wages. A sort of clerk, she thought."

      "He will be able to tell us if anything has been disturbed, no doubt,"remarked Stillman.

      Then he examined the body minutely. In the pockets were found a wallet containing a large sum of money, a massive, old-fashioned gold watch with a chain running from pocket to pocket of the waist-coat. Upon the little finger of Hume's left hand was a magnificent diamond.

      "Worth two thousand if it's worth a cent,"appraised Osborne.

      "If the criminal had meant robbery these things would unquestionably have been taken,"commented the young coroner. "Eh, Curran?"

      "That is a very safe rule to go by, Mr. Stillman,"replied his assistant, with the utmost stolidity.

      Through his big lenses the coroner gazed curiously at the bronze haft protruding from the dead man's chest.

      "A bayonet,"said he. "Not a common weapon in a crime like this. In fact, I should say it was rather in the nature of an innovation."

      "It probably belonged in Hume's stock,"suggested Osborne. "There seems to be about everything here."

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