us at the door.

"Are you Dr. Munro, sir?" he asked.

"I am."

"I am a detective from the local office. I was ordered to inquire into
the death of the young man in your house lately."

Here was a thunderbolt! If looking upset is a sign of guilt, I must have
stood confessed as a villain. It was so absolutely unexpected. I hope,
however, that I had command of myself instantly.

"Pray step in!" said I. Any information I can give you is entirely at
your service. Have you any objection to my friend Captain Whitehall
being present?

"Not in the least." So in we both went, taking this bird of ill-omen.

He was, however, a man of tact and with a pleasant manner.

"Of course, Dr. Munro," said he, "you are much too well known in the
town for any one to take this matter seriously. But the fact is that we
had an anonymous letter this morning saying that the young man had died
yesterday and was to be buried at an unusual hour to-day, and that the
circumstances were suspicious."

"He died the day before yesterday. He was buried at eight to-day," I
explained; and then I told him the whole story from the beginning. He
listened attentively and took a note or two.

"Who signed the certificate?" he asked.

"I did," said I.

He raised his eyebrows slightly. "There is really no one to check your
statement then?" said he.

"Oh yes, Dr. Porter saw him the night before he died. He knew all about
the case."

The detective shut his note-book with a snap. "That is final, Dr.
Munro," said he. "Of course I must see Dr. Porter as a matter of form,
but if his opinion agrees with yours I can only apologise to you for
this intrusion."

"And there is one more thing, Mr. Detective, sir," said Whitehall
explosively. "I'm not a rich man, sir, only the ---- half-pay skipper
of an armed transport; but by ----, sir, I'd give you this hat full of
dollars to know the name of the ---- rascal who wrote that anonymous
letter, sir. By ---- sir, you'd have a real case to look after then."
And he waved his black thorn ferociously.

So the wretched business ended, Bertie. But on what trifling chances do
our fortunes depend! If Porter had not seen him that night, it is more
than likely that there would have been an exhumation. And then,--well,
there would be chloral in the body; some money interests _DID_ depend upon
the death of the lad--a sharp lawyer might have made much of the case.
Anyway, the first breath of suspicion would have blown my litt