ody, plainly."

The assistant coroner asked a number of other questions, but nothing of
value was brought out.

"Very well," said the questioner finally, to the two women. "That will
be all for the time being. Thank you." And then, as they left the room,
he added to Osborne, "And now, let us have a look in the next room."

The two went out into the hall; promptly, Mr. Scanlon followed. The
sitting-room door was exactly opposite, and they entered silently.
Through the shutters a dim light was admitted, and fell across the
floor; almost in the center of this a huddled form lay in a twisted,
sidelong fashion; the head rested upon a rug, one end of which was thick
and hard with blood; a white cloth covered the dead man's face.

"Just as he dropped when hit," said the police sergeant, who was in the
room. "Nobody has stirred him an inch."

Osborne's practiced eye went about the apartment.

"Is everything else as it was?" he asked.

"Not a thing touched," the sergeant assured him. "I got here an hour
after it happened, and I made it a point to see that there was no
tramping in and out. The room's been under guard ever since."

Osborne nodded his approval of this, and then turned toward the
assistant coroner, who had knelt beside the body and was now lifting the
cloth.

"What's it look like?" he asked, bending over.

"A frightful blow," said Dr. Shower. "And it was a strong arm that
struck it." Then, with suddenly increased interest, he peered still
closer at the terrible wound in the side of the head. "Hello," said he,
"this is rather unusual in shape." He looked up at the sergeant who was
passing his hand behind a row of books upon a shelf. "What sort of a
weapon was used?" he asked.

The police sergeant turned a look at the questioner over his shoulder.

"We haven't been able to find any," said he, "and we've looked
everywhere. I've been over this room a dozen times myself, and I'm going
over it again. It wasn't done with the kind of a thing a man would carry
in his pockets--I'm sure of that."

"Right," said Osborne, who had also closely examined the wound by this
time. "The cut's too wide for a blackjack, or what the English call a
'life-preserver'; and it's too deep. It was made with something with a
sharp edge--something wide and heavy."

"Are you quite sure of that?" The voice was that of Frank Burton, and
looking in the direction of the door, they saw that the young man had
entered the room. "Is it not