Cut her throat. LORD, how she has
BLED! Did you ever see so much--that's murder--that's cold-blooded
murder. He's killed her. Say, we must get a policeman. Come on."

They turned back through the house. Half a dozen people--the wild-game
peddler, the man with the broad-brimmed hat, the washwoman, and three
other men--were in the front room of the junk shop, a bank of excited
faces surged at the door. Beyond this, outside, the crowd was packed
solid from one end of the alley to the other. Out in Polk Street the
cable cars were nearly blocked and were bunting a way slowly through the
throng with clanging bells. Every window had its group. And as Trina and
the harness-maker tried to force the way from the door of the junk shop
the throng suddenly parted right and left before the passage of two
blue-coated policemen who clove a passage through the press, working
their elbows energetically. They were accompanied by a third man in
citizen's clothes.

Heise and Trina went back into the kitchen with the two policemen, the
third man in citizen's clothes cleared the intruders from the front room
of the junk shop and kept the crowd back, his arm across the open door.

"Whew!" whistled one of the officers as they came out into the kitchen,
"cutting scrape? By George! SOMEBODY'S been using his knife all right."
He turned to the other officer. "Better get the wagon. There's a box on
the second corner south. Now, then," he continued, turning to Trina and
the harness-maker and taking out his note-book and pencil, "I want your
names and addresses."

It was a day of tremendous excitement for the entire street. Long after
the patrol wagon had driven away, the crowd remained. In fact, until
seven o'clock that evening groups collected about the door of the junk
shop, where a policeman stood guard, asking all manner of questions,
advancing all manner of opinions.

"Do you think they'll get him?" asked Ryer of the policeman. A dozen
necks craned forward eagerly.

"Hoh, we'll get him all right, easy enough," answered the other, with a
grand air.

"What? What's that? What did he say?" asked the people on the outskirts
of the group. Those in front passed the answer back.

"He says they'll get him all right, easy enough."

The group looked at the policeman admiringly.

"He's skipped to San Jose."

Where the rumor started, and how, no one knew. But every one seemed
persuaded that Zerkow had gone to San Jose.

"But what did he kill