h one-story cottages, stretched far away in
every direction.

[Illustration: THE ASSASSIN'S DEN, WITH THE CARLSON COTTAGE IN THE
REAR.]

This was the lonely spot, and this the vacant house that the assassins
chose for their den, and within these walls Dr. Cronin came to his
death.

On the day following the finding of the body State's Attorney
Longenecker, Captain Schuettler of the City Police, and Captain Wing of
the Lake View Police, met in consultation. It was decided to send for
O'Sullivan, the ice-man. While no direct suspicions were at that time
entertained that he was concerned in the tragedy, there was an
indefinable feeling that he knew something or other that might prove of
importance in relation to the affair. O'Sullivan promptly responded to
the summons. Pressed by the State's Attorney to tell them anything he
might know, O'Sullivan said that he believed there had been something
mysterious going on in the Carlson cottage. Two suspicious looking men,
he went on to say, had appeared in the neighborhood about March and
rented the place, paying a month's rent. Since that time they had
occupied it very little, if at all. To the landlord they had pretended
that they were going to work for him (O'Sullivan), but this was not
true, for he knew nothing about them, and certainly had never hired
them. The matter looked suspicious, he thought, and ought to be
investigated, especially as it was possible that these were the men who
had used his name to Dr. Cronin. Beyond this he knew absolutely nothing.

"BLOOD, BLOOD, EVERYWHERE!"

To the ordinary listener O'Sullivan's story would have seemed of little
or no importance. Not so, however, with Schuettler and Wing. These
experienced officials, who knew of old that important results often
follow in the wake of the most unpromising trail, saw in it a possible
clue. Together they drove with all haste to the Carlson cottage. It was
broad daylight, and even before they had alighted from their buggy, they
saw enough to convince them that they were on the right track at last.
There were big blood stains on the boards, that crossed the ditch in
front of the gate. There were larger ones on the sidewalk in front of
the house; and they led, in two dark-red parallel streams right up the
wooden steps to the front door. It was the work of a couple of seconds
to force the lock. The usually cool, imperturbable officials were too
excited to go after keys, while, moreover, it was d