thy by reason of
its not being outspoken. If he was keeping anything back, I was
adopting the surest means of forcing his confidence.

And I meant, too, before I was through in this house of death, to send
Alexander Burke about his business. My plans concerning that
gentleman, however, included an espionage that would record every
detail of his conduct for some days to come. During the time I was
with Maillot in the library, a number of Mr. Page's business associates
had gathered at the house for the purpose of performing such offices as
they could. Among these was Mr. Ulysses White--of White, Stonebreaker
& White--Mr. Page's attorney. This gentleman informed me that he was
quite certain the millionaire had never made any testamentary
disposition of his property, in which event Maillot would inherit the
whole estate. This was a contingency which the young man had already
mentioned, and for a few minutes its reiteration made me grave.

After spending some unprofitable time with the assembled gentlemen--all
men of affairs who were impatient to be off--I sought out Stodger,
finding him engaged in conversation with the coroner's deputy, a
talented and ambitious young physician of the name of Wentworth De
Breen. Later on Dr. De Breen and I became warm personal friends, and I
shall have much to say of him before concluding these "Reminiscences."
[1]

He and I went together to the landing to inspect the body, for there
were one or two matters concerning which I was desirous of his opinion.
Dr. De Breen was a blunt, abrupt young fellow, not given much to
conversation upon topics outside his profession, and even then his
remarks were invariably terse and much to the point.

He was very near-sighted, and while he persisted in wearing
nose-glasses, it seemed impossible for him to obtain a pair that would
remain on his nose for more than a minute at a time. They were saved
from destruction by a black silk cord; and there was something in the
way with which he would adjust them and fix his attention upon a person
or thing, which made you feel that whatever escaped his scrutiny must
be surpassingly minute. And such, indeed, was the fact.

He examined the crushed skull, silently and methodically, touching it
here and there with fingers as light and refined as any woman's. Not a
word did he utter until of a sudden he bent a scowling look of
comprehension upon the iron candlestick. The only cranial wound or
contusion wa