ry of a more singular nature. In the window, caught by
the sudden fall of the sash, was a black frock coat. In one of the
tail pockets was a briar-root pipe. The sash had fallen while the
murderer was getting out, and, pulled against the sash, the pipe held
the garment fast. One sleeve was torn nearly off. In a side pocket was
found a letter addressed to Dave Kittymunks, general delivery,
Chicago, and post-marked Milwaukee. Under the window a ladder was
found.

At the coroner's inquest, held the next day, one of the servants
testified that three days before, while the old man and Brooks were at
the store and while the ladies were out, a man with black whiskers,
and who wore a black coat, had called at the house and said that he
had been sent to search for sewer-gas. He had an order presumably
signed by Mr. Colton, and was accordingly shown through the house. He
had insisted upon going into the vault-room, declaring that he had
located the gas there, but was told that the room was always kept
locked. He then went away. The servant had not thought to tell Mr.
Colton.

A general delivery clerk at the post-office testified that the letter
addressed to Dave Kittymunks had passed through his hands. The oddness
of the name had fastened it on his memory. He did not think that he
could identify the man who had received the letter, but he recalled
the black whiskers. The letter was apparently written by a woman, and
was signed "Lil." It was an urgent appeal for money.

CHAPTER XIX.

ARRESTED EVERYWHERE.

"Who is Dave Kittymunks?" was a question asked by the newspapers
throughout the country. Not the slightest trace of him could be found,
nor could "Lil" be discovered with any degree of certainty. But one
morning the public was fed to an increase of appetite by an article
that appeared in a Chicago newspaper. "Kittymunks came to Chicago
about five months ago," said the writer, "and for a time went under
the name of John Pruett. Fierce in his manner, threatening in his
talk, wearing a scowl, frowning at prattling children and muttering at
honest men, he repelled every one. Dissatisfied with his lot in life,
he refused, even for commensurate compensation, to perform that honest
labor which is the province of every true man, and like a hyena, he
prowled about growling at himself and despising fate. The writer met
him on several occasions and held out inducements that might lead to
conversation, but was persistently rep