street
from the newspaper office.

"Don't foller me in here," ordered the marshal, as Alf started to enter
the _Banner_ office with him. "This is private. Move on, now."

"But what'll I tell the gang over there if they ask me what you're doin'
about the case?" argued Alf.

"You tell 'em I'll soon have the mystery solved."

"What mystery? There ain't any mystery about it. He done it as publicly
as he could."

"Well, you just tell 'em I've got a clue, and I'm follerin' it up."

With that, he disappeared through the door, closing it with some
violence in Alf's face.

Harry Squires was putting the finishing touches to a long and graphic
account of the suicide. He looked up as Anderson sauntered into the back
office.

"I'm glad you came in, Marshal," he said. "I hated to finish this story
without mentioning you, one way or another. Now I can add right here at
the end: 'Our worthy Town Marshal, A. Crow, was also present.'"

Anderson sat down. He pulled at his sparse chin whiskers for a moment or
two, evidently trying to release something verbal. Failing in this, he
sank back in the chair and fixed Mr. Squires with a pathetic look.

"Where have you been?" demanded Harry.

"Oh,--rooting around," said Anderson.

"Well, I'll tell you something that no one else in this town knows,"
said the other, pitying his old friend. "Are you listening?"

Anderson shook his head drearily. "I'll never be able to live this down,
Harry."

"Brace up. All is not lost. Will you do exactly what I tell you to do?"

"I hope you ain't going to tell me to go down and jump in the
mill-race."

"Nothing of the sort. That wouldn't help matters. You could swim out.
Now, listen. I know why Jake hung himself; and I am the only one who
does know. The whole story is told here in this article I have just
written. We've been friends and foes for a great many years, Mr.
Hawkshaw, and I want to show my appreciation. I don't know how many
times you have saved my life. I sha'n't tell you in just what way you
have saved it; I can only say that I should have died long ago of sheer
ennui,--if you know what that is,--if it hadn't been for you, old
friend. You have been a life-saver, over and over again. And in spite of
the many times you have saved my life, I don't seem to have put on any
flesh. I remain as skinny as I was when I first met you. I ought to be
so fat that I'd have to waddle. But, that's neither here nor there. I'm
going to save _your_ l