"Doc Warren, eh," mused Thong to his partner, as Darcy preceded them
downstairs. "Now we'll know what killed her, and we'll have something
to start on--maybe."

"I think we've got something already," observed Carroll.

"Oh, yes--maybe--and then--again--maybe _not_. Come on!"

"Morning boys! Nice crisp day--if you say it quick!" cried the county
physician, as he shook the rain from his coat and tossed his auto
gloves on a shiny glass showcase. "Second time this week you've got me
out of bed before my time. What's the matter, if they've got to have a
murder, with doing it in the afternoon? I like my sleep!"

He was smiling and cheerful, was Dr. Warren. Murders and autopsies
were all in the day's work with him. He had been county physician for
a number of years.

"Hum, yes! quite an old lady," he mused as he took off his coat, which
Carroll held for him. The doctor rolled up his shirt sleeves and
stooped down. "Head's badly cut--let's see what we have here. Let's
have a light, it's too dark to see."

One of the clerks switched on more electric lights, and they glinted
and sparkled on the silver and cut glass. They flashed on the white,
still face, and the gleams seemed to be swallowed up in that red blotch
in the snowy hair.

"Um, yes! Depressed fracture. Bad place, too. Shouldn't wonder but
what it had done the trick. Might have been from a black-jack?" and he