n the
part of the new tenant and nothing was seen of him until April 20, when
he again called upon the Carlson's to pay the second month's rent. At
this time young Carlson remembered that there was a trunk and a lounge
in the cottage belonging to a former occupant, and "Williams" consented
to help him move the articles out. While doing this an opportunity was
afforded him of looking around the house, and he was particularly
struck with the meagre character of the furniture. There was nothing on
the bedstead but a spring mattress and comforter, the carpet was cheap
and the chairs, washstand and other articles were of the most common
kind. The elder Mrs. Carlson received the rent this time, and with a
woman's natural inquisitiveness, she asked the man what was the matter
that his people did not move in. He replied that his sister had been
taken "awfully sick," and was in the Sister's Hospital. Mrs. Carlson
replied that she liked to see people move in when the house was rented,
as it did not look well to have it rented. To this "Williams" responded
that it might be a week and perhaps a little more before his people were
finally settled. Before leaving the three had a pitcher of beer
together. After this the Carlsons were on the _qui vive_ for their new
neighbors, but the week passed, and two more, and still the cottage was
unoccupied. On Monday, May 13--Dr. Cronin had then been missing for
eleven days--the Carlsons had another visitor. He was a short stout man,
full chested, with light hair and complexion. To Mrs. Carlson he said
that Frank Williams had sent him to pay the rent, that his sister was
still so sick that they could not take possession. But by this time the
old lady had made up her mind that if the people couldn't begin
housekeeping she couldn't take the rent, and she said so. The visitor
tried to argue her out of her determination, but in vain. She knew that
the little frame building was eyed with suspicion by the keen-witted
Germans that lived in the neighborhood, and that it had become current
gossip that there were queer tenants in the apparently vacant house. The
few pieces of furniture was all that any one had seen carried into the
place, and yet it was, to all appearances, the home of somebody. No
woman had been seen around, although once in a while a light could be
seen burning at night through the closed blinds, and a piece of bed
quilt had been stretched over one of the street windows. All these
things