r of somebody who may be alive for all we know."

"You seem to be working in Jarvis' interest," said Deever, with a sneer.

"Not a bit of it. You know why I am here in your house."

"Because Superintendent Byrnes sent you; and I supposed that he had sent
a good man. He promised the best."

"Well, that ought to satisfy you."

"There was no need of sending anybody. We might have arrested Jarvis at
once. Any ordinary policeman could have got evidence enough to convict."

"But the superintendent did not think so."

"No; and I'm willing he should work in his own way, so long as I get
justice in the end. Now, what do you want?"

"Well," said Nick, appearing to consider the subject deeply, "I would
like some evidence of a motive."

"I don't believe there was any motive. The thing was done in anger."

"Then I want evidence of a really serious quarrel."

"Very well; you wait right here, and I'll bring a man who knows
something about it. I heard of him this morning, and had time to ask him
a few questions, but I don't know all he has to tell."

Deever hastily left the room. From the window Nick saw Deever pass up
West One Hundred and Forty-third street, on which the house stood. He
was going in the direction of St. Nicholas avenue.

In less than an hour he returned with a young man whom he presented as
the important witness for whom he had been in search.

"Your name is Adolf Klein?" said Nick.

The witness nodded. He was a bashful, awkward fellow, who did not seem
to be possessed of the average intelligence.

"Where do you work?" was the next question.

"I'm a bartender in Orton's saloon, up on the avenue."

"Do you know what has become of Patrick Deever?"

"All I know is this: I was passing the grounds of the hospital Monday
evening and stopped just by the wall. The reason I stopped was that I
heard Pat Deever inside, talking very loud. He called somebody an old
fool and swore at him."

The witness paused. He seemed to be a good deal excited. It was not very
warm in the room, but the perspiration was pouring off of Klein's
forehead.

"Was that all you heard?" asked Nick.

"No; I heard more hard talk, and then a blow was struck. It sounded
heavy and dull. Then came more blows. Somebody seemed to be pounding. It
sounded as if he was pounding on the ground, and if it hadn't been for
the loud talk just before, I'd have thought that Pat was smoothing down
a flower-bed with his spade."

"Did you hear any t