prowling about the opposite pavement; and as the only exit except the
street door was an alleyway which opened along-side of the front of the
house, I gave myself up for lost. About ten o'clock I took my case
of instruments and started for File's house, followed, as I too well
understood, by Stagers.

I knew the house, which was in a small uptown street, by its closed
windows and the craped bell, which I shuddered as I touched. However,
it was too late to draw back, and I therefore inquired for Mrs. File. A
haggard-looking young woman came down, and led me into a small parlor,
for whose darkened light I was thankful enough.

"Did you write this note?"

"I did," said the woman, "if you're the coroner. Joe File--he's my
husband--he's gone out to see about the funeral. I wish it was his, I
do."

"What do you suspect?" said I.

"I'll tell you," she returned in a whisper. "I think he was made away
with. I think there was foul play. I think he was poisoned. That's what
I think."

"I hope you may be mistaken," said I. "Suppose you let me see the body."

"You shall see it," she replied; and following her, I went up-stairs to
a front chamber, where I found the corpse.

"Get it over soon," said the woman, with strange firmness. "If there