f dragging.

Of course we began along the shore, close to the scene of the crime. We
worked from the natural wall and back to a point a hundred yards beyond
the starting-place. Then we turned back, just the width of the drag
hooks beyond. We reached the Bridge again without result.

As the moments passed the coroner's annoyance increased. Noon came and
passed--already we had dragged carefully a spot a full hundred square
yards in extent. The tide flowed again, beat against the Bridge and
fretted the water, making our work increasingly difficult. And at last
the sheriff rested, cursing softly, on his oars.

"Well, Weldon?" he asked.

The coroner's eyes looked rather bright as he turned to answer him. I
got the impression that for all his outer complacency he was secretly
excited. "Nothing, Slatterly," he said. "What do you think yourself?"

"I think we're face to face with the worst deal, the biggest mystery
that's come our way in years. In the first place, there isn't any use of
looking and dragging any more."

"But man, the body's got to be here somewhere."

"Got, nothing! We've got to begin again, and not take anything for
granted. This is still water, except for these waves the tide makes,
breaking over the rocks--and you know a body doesn't move much in still
water, especially the first night. For that matter the place was still
as a slough, they say, while the tide was going out--most of the night.
We've looked for a hundred yards about the spot. It's not there. And the
murderer couldn't swim with it clear across the lagoon."

"He might, a strong swimmer."

"But what's the sense of it? Besides, a dead body ain't easy to manage.
The thing to do is to search Florey's rooms for any evidence, then to
get all the niggers and the white folks as well and have an unofficial
inquest. Then we might see where we're at."

"Good." The coroner turned to me. "Is there any use of hunting up Mr.
Nealman to show us Florey's room?" he asked. "Can't you take us up
there?"

I was glad enough of the chance to be on hand for that search, so I
didn't hesitate to answer. "You are the law. You can go where you
like--wherever you think best."

We went together up the stairs to Florey's room. There was not the least
sign that tragedy had overtaken its occupant. It was scrupulously kept:
David Florey must have been the neatest of men. The search, however, was
largely unavailing.

In a little desk at one corner we found a number