are you the woman that wrote this note? Because in that case I must
examine the body.'"

"I see," said I; "she needn't know who I am, or anything else; but if I
tell her it's all right, do you think she won't want to know why there
isn't a jury, and so on?"

"Bless you," said the man, "the girl isn't over seventeen, and doesn't
know no more than a baby. As we live up-town miles away, she won't know
anything about you."

"I'll do it," said I, suddenly, for, as I saw, it involved no sort of
risk; "but I must have three hundred dollars."

"And fifty," added the wolf, "if you do it well."

Then I knew it was serious.

With this the man buttoned about him a shaggy gray overcoat, and took
his leave without a single word in addition.

A minute later he came back and said: "Stagers is in this business, and
I was to remind you of Lou Wilson,--I forgot that,--the woman that died
last year. That's all." Then he went away, leaving me in a cold sweat. I
knew now I had no choice. I understood why I had been selected.

For the first time in my life, that night I couldn't sleep. I thought
to myself, at last, that I would get up early, pack a few clothes,
and escape, leaving my books to pay as they might my arrears of rent.
Looking out of the window, however, in the morning, I saw Stagers