to begin my examination of the body and its
immediate surroundings. I had no sooner arrived at the landing than I
heard a man's voice, somewhere above in the second story, speaking with
a note of determination that demanded some sort of recognition from the
person addressed. The clear, ringing, resolute tone made me
involuntarily pause and listen.

"Where 's your headquarters man?" the voice was irately demanding. "I
want to see him, d' ye hear? You blithering idiot, I 'm going down
those stairs; if you want to rough it, just try to stop me."

Another voice was raised in expostulation. Stodger, at my elbow,
suddenly chuckled.

"That's him!" he whispered, with an unaccountable excitement. "That's
Maillot!"

"He must be a tartar," I observed.

At that instant a stalwart young man, very angry and with one
discolored eye that lent him an uncommonly truculent appearance, looked
down on us from the upper hall; then he deliberately ignored the
arguing policeman, strode to the head of the stairs and descended to
the landing.

"It's all right, Callahan," said Stodger to the discomfited blue-coat.

The young man halted before us.

"Ass!" he growled, staring hard at me.

Stodger made the epithet exclusively mine with a bow and a broad grin.
Instantly the young fellow flushed and stammered an apology.

"I didn't mean either of you chaps," he explained, in embarrassment.
"It's that chuckle-headed hod-carrier in a blue uniform. If he gives
me any more of his cheek, I 'll take his club from him and hand him a
wallop over the head with it--dashed if I don't."

He looked eminently capable of doing it, too. He paused, his look
resting upon me with an interrogation.

"Are you in authority here?" he bluntly demanded.

"I suppose so. Are you Mr. Maillot?"

"I am. And I 'd like to know how much longer I 'll have to stay in
this beastly cold-storage warehouse. I 'm plenty tired of it right
now, if you want to know."

I smiled at the resolute young fellow; there was something decidedly
likable in his frank and handsome countenance, and his blunt, intense
manner.

"It all depends, Mr. Maillot. You and Mr. Burke are the only ones who
can help me to some sort of solution of this crime--if crime it is; I
take it for granted that you are willing to do what you can."

He favored me with another stare, then stood thoughtfully pulling at
his lips and gazing at the body.

"Poor chap!" he muttered at length, in a hus