I.

The man looked around the room rather scornfully, at the same time
throwing back his coat and displaying a red neckerchief and a huge
garnet pin. "Guess you're not overly rich," he said.

"Not especially," said I. "What's that your business?"

He did not answer, but merely said, "Know Simon Stagers?"

"Can't say I do," said I, cautiously. Simon was a burglar who had blown
off two fingers when mining a safe. I had attended him while he was
hiding.

"Can't say you do. Well, you can lie, and no mistake. Come, now, doc.
Simon says you're safe, and I want to have a leetle plain talk with
you."

With this he laid ten gold eagles on the table. I put out my hand
instinctively.

"Let 'em alone," cried the man, sharply. "They're easy earned, and ten
more like 'em."

"For doing what?" I said.

The man paused a moment, and looked around him; next he stared at me,
and loosened his cravat with a hasty pull. "You're the coroner," said
he.

"I! What do you mean?"

"Yes, you're the coroner; don't you understand?" and so saying, he
shoved the gold pieces toward me.

"Very good," said I; "we will suppose I'm the coroner. What next?"

"And being the coroner," said he, "you get this note, which requests you
to call at No. 9 Blank street to examine the body of a young man which
is supposed--only supposed, you see--to have--well, to have died under
suspicious circumstances."

"Go on," said I.

"No," he returned; "not till I know how you like it. Stagers and another
knows it; and it wouldn't be very safe for you to split, besides not
making nothing out of it. But what I say is this, Do you like the
business of coroner?"

I did not like it; but just then two hundred in gold was life to me, so
I said: "Let me hear the whole of it first. I am safe."

"That's square enough," said the man. "My wife's got"--correcting
himself with a shivery shrug--"my wife had a brother that took to
cutting up rough because when I'd been up too late I handled her a
leetle hard now and again.

"Luckily he fell sick with typhoid just then--you see, he lived with
us. When he got better I guessed he'd drop all that; but somehow he was
worse than ever--clean off his head, and strong as an ox. My wife said
to put him away in an asylum. I didn't think that would do. At last he
tried to get out. He was going to see the police about--well--the
thing was awful serious, and my wife carrying on like mad, and wanting
doctors. I had no mind to run,