upon them with contempt and as inferior beings. Mr.
Westcote at once arose from his chair and held out his hand.

"Why, Dobbins," he exclaimed, "this is a surprise. I did not know you
were in the city. How are things going on at the falls? Nothing
wrong, I hope? Sit down, please," and he motioned him to a chair.

"The work is going on all right, sir," Dobbins replied, as he took the
offered seat. "But I have come to see you, sir, on very important
business. It has troubled me so much that I have not been able to
sleep ever since Randall was arrested."

"Oh, I see, it has to do with that murder case, has it?" Mr. Westcote
asked, now greatly interested.

"I wouldn't like to say that, sir," and Dobbins twirled his hat in his
hands. "But it might throw some light upon the matter. You see,
somebody killed old David. That's certain, isn't it?"

Mr. Westcote nodded his assent.

"Well, if you knew for sure that somebody had tried to but a short time
before, it would make you rather suspicious of that somebody, wouldn't
it?"

"I should say so!" Mr. Westcote exclaimed. "But do you know of any one
who made the attempt, Dobbins?"

"You can judge of that, sir, when you hear what I have to say. It was
this way. The day of the big wind I was sent to the shore to get a
piece of mill belting, which was to come from the city on the afternoon
boat. I had almost reached the brow of logs on the edge of the
clearing when I stopped to get a drink from that little spring by the
side of the road. I sat down for a minute or two under the shade of a
small thick fir tree to fill my pipe, when happening to glance to my
left I saw a man running up the road. I at once saw it was that artist
fellow, and curious to know what he was running for I moved back a
little behind the fir so's he couldn't see me. He stopped right by the
logs and peered down the bank. Then he looked cautiously around and,
picking up a stick, he pried loose one of the logs lying on top, and
which was almost ready to go anyway. As soon as he had done this, he
dropped the stick and ran like a streak of lightning down the road, and
that was the last I saw of him."

"Well?" Mr. Westcote questioned as Dobbins paused and wiped the
perspiration from his forehead with a big red handkerchief.

"This is the part, sir, which I am ashamed to tell," the man continued.
"I heard the crash of that log down the bank and the splash in the
water. Then there fell upo