sealed
by rust; while the other was just as permanently fixed open by the
accumulation of earth and gravel about its lower part. Two parallel rows
of ragged, untrimmed privet designated the tortuous way of the drive to
the unused _porte-cochere_.

"Nasty case," Stodger was imparting, in queer staccato sentences.
"Shouldn't have much difficulty, though; responsibility lies between two
men. Here all last night. Nobody else. Callahan and O'Brien holdin'
'em. One 's Page's private secretary; fellow named Burke--Alexander
Stilwell Burke. Peach of a monicker, ain't it? Has all three sections
on his cards.

"The other 's a young lawyer chap; calls himself Royal Maillot. I can't
pry out of either of 'em what _he_ was doing here."

"And nobody else, you say?" I asked when he paused.

"Nope--so _they_ say. Either one of 'em might have done it. They 're
down on each other for something; glare at each other like--like--you
know--cat and dog."

"Go on."

"Well, this fellow Burke--Alexander Stilwell--he comes to our shack some
time after two this A. M. Told the desk-sergeant old Page 'd been
croaked; wouldn't say anything more. Dippy? Say! Acted like somebody
'd slipped him a round o' knockout-drops. Sure thing, he did. Would n't
budge till old Grimes sent me back with him. I 'm only a license
inspector, too. This is what I--h'm-m--I butted into. Dev'lish cold,
ain't it?"

He had opened the front door and ushered me into a deep, wide hall. A
broad stairway, with carved oak balusters, rose on one side to a landing
which formed a sort of balcony over the rear end of the hall, and thence
continued up to the second story.

With his concluding words, Stodger pointed up to the landing, through
whose balusters I could see a hand and a part of a motionless human form
stretched out at full length upon the floor.

"Felix Page--b'r-r--dead as a door-nail," Stodger now added. "Slugged
over the head with a heavy iron candlestick; find it lying there by him.
Think of all that wheat--and them ships crunching through the ice. Say,
it's pretty tough, ain't it? He was--but would you rather make an
examination first? Or shall I go on?"

I smiled at the man's air of vast importance, which discriminated not at
all between grave matters and light. With his queer "hum's" and "haw's,"
his funny little exclamatory noises and quick, jerky manner of speech, he
reminded me of a jolly diminutive priest who had just dined wel