much respect for death, have you?"

"That's the theory on which the law works, but sometimes it ain't
human. Confound it, man, DID YOU?"

"Yes."

O'Connor sat down and with his finger-nails pried open the box of
cigars. "Mind if I smoke with you?" he asked. "I need it. I'm shot
up with unexpected things this morning. Do you care if I ask you
about the girl?"

"The girl!" exclaimed Kent. He sat up straighter, staring at
O'Connor.

The staff-sergeant's eyes were on him with questioning steadiness.
"I see--you don't know her," he said, lighting his cigar. "Neither
do I. Never saw her before. That's why I am wondering about
Inspector Kedsty. I tell you, it's queer. He didn't believe you
this morning, yet he was all shot up. He wanted me to go with him
to his house. The cords stood out on his neck like that--like my
little finger.

"Then suddenly he changed his mind and said we'd go to the office.
That took us along the road that runs through the poplar grove. It
happened there. I'm not much of a girl's man, Kent, and I'd be a
fool to try to tell you what she looked like. But there she was,
standing in the path not ten feet ahead of us, and she stopped me
in my tracks as quick as though she'd sent a shot into me. And she
stopped Kedsty, too. I heard him give a sort of grunt--a funny