reports in all the evening papers."

"Yes, the discovery was made very late the previous night."

"So I gathered. Well, I was told that Mr. Mason had been shown into my
study, and there I found him. He was in an extremely nervous and
agitated state, and he had an evening paper in his hand. With scarcely
a preliminary word he burst out, 'Have you seen this in the paper?
This--this murder? There--there's the report.' And he thrust the paper
into my hands.

"I had not seen or heard anything of the matter, in fact, till that
moment, and now he gave me little leisure to read the report. He walked
up and down the room, nervously clasping his hands, sometimes together,
sometimes at his sides, sometimes before him, shaking his head in a
shuddering sort of way, and bursting out once or twice as though the
words were uncontrollable, 'What ought I to do? What _can_ I do?'

"I looked up from the paper, and he went on, 'Have you read it? It's a
murder--a horrid murder. The poor wretched fellow was trying to escape,
but he couldn't. It's a murder!'

"'It certainly seems so,' I said. 'But what--did you know this man,
Denson?'

"'No, of course not,' Mason replied, 'but there it is, plain enough, and
here's another paper with just the same report, but a little shorter.'
He pulled the second paper from his pocket. 'I got what different papers
I could, but these are the two fullest. It's plain enough it's a brutal
murder, isn't it? And the man was a merchant, or an agent, or something,
in Portsmouth Street, but he was found in labourer's clothes--proof that
he feared it and was trying to escape it; but he couldn't--he
couldn't--no! nor anybody. It's awful, awful!'

"'But I don't understand,' I said. 'Won't you sit down?' For Mason
continued to pace distractedly about the room. 'What is it you think
this unfortunate man was trying to escape? And what am I to do in the
matter?'

"He stopped, pressed both hands to his head, and seemed to control
himself by a great effort. 'You must excuse me,' he said. 'I'm a bit run
down lately, and my nerves are all wrong. I'm talking rather wildly,
I'm afraid. I really hardly know why I came to you, except that I
haven't a soul I can talk to about--well, about anything, scarcely.'

"He took a chair, and sat for a little while with his head forward on
his hand and his eyes directed towards the floor. Then he said, in a
musing way, rather as though he was thinking aloud than talking to me,
'You w