but
relinquished that effort. The cause of death was obvious enough. Kirski
had stabbed himself with one of the tools used in his trade; either he
had deliberately lain down on the floor to make sure of driving the
weapon home, or he had accidentally fallen so after dealing himself the
fatal blow. Apparently he had been dead for some hours.

Brand rose. The landlady at the door was alternately screaming and
sobbing; declaring that she was ruined; that not another lodger would
come to her house.

"Be quiet, woman, and send to the police-station at once," Brand said.
"Wait a moment: when did you last see this man?"

"This morning, sir--early this morning, sir," said she, in a profusion
of tears over her prospective loss. "He came down-stairs with a letter
in his hand, and there was twopence for my little boy to take it when he
came home from school. How should I know he had gone back, sir, to make
away with himself like that, and ruin a poor widow woman, sir?"

"Have you a servant in the house?"

"No sir; no one but myself--and me dependent--"

"Then go at once to the police-station, and tell the inspector on duty
what has happened. You can do that, can't you? You will do no good by
standing crying there, or getting the neighbors in. I will stop here
till you come back."

She went away, leaving Brand and his paralyzed companion with this
ghastly object lying prone on the floor.

"Poor devil!" Brand said; "his troubles are at an end now. I wonder
whether I should lift him on to the bed, or wait until they come."

Then another thought struck him: and he turned quickly to his companion,
who sat there horrified and helpless.

"Edwards," said he, "you must pull yourself together. The police will
ask you what you know about this affair. Then you will have to give
evidence before the coroner's inquest. There is nothing material for you
to conceal; but still, no mention must be made of Lisle Street, do you
understand?"

Edwards nodded. His face was of a ghastly white. Then he rose and said,

"Let us go somewhere else, Brand."

His companion took him down-stairs into the landlady's parlor, and got
him a glass of water. Apparently there was not a human being in the
house but themselves.

"Do you understand, Edwards? Give your private address--not Lisle
Street. Then you can tell the story simply enough: that unfortunate
fellow came all the way from Russia--virtually a maniac--you can tell
them his story if you like