coroner, in a milder tone. He knew Loton well, and realised the
advisability of encouragement in his case.

"The murder! Oh, I wouldn't presume to say anything about the
murder. I'm not the man to stir up any such subject as that. It's
about the money--or some money--more money than usually falls into
my till. It--it was rather queer, sirs, and I have felt the
flutter of it all day. Shall I tell you about it? It happened last
night, late last night, sirs, so late that I was in bed with my
wife, and had been snoring, she said, four hours."

"What money? New money? Crisp, fresh bills, Loton?" eagerly
questioned Mr. Fenton.

Loton, who was the keeper of a small confectionery and bakery
store on one of the side streets leading up the hill, shifted
uneasily between his two interrogators, and finally addressed
himself to the coroner:

"It was new money. I thought it felt so at night, but I was sure
of it in the morning. A brand-new bill, sir, a--But that isn't
the queerest thing about it. I was asleep, sir, sound asleep, and
dreaming of my courting days (for I asked Sally at the circus,
sirs, and the band playing on the hill made me think of it), when
I was suddenly shook awake by Sally herself, who says she hadn't
slept a wink for listening to the music and wishing she was a girl
again. 'There's a man at the shop door,' cries she. 'He's a-
calling of you; go and see what he wants.' I was mad at being
wakened. Dreaming is pleasant, specially when clowns and kissing
get mixed up in it, but duty is duty, and so into the shop I