here he is, mixing hot brandy punch for
two! Here, you, sir, go up quietly, and tell Mr. Rollins Dr. Renton
wants to see him. The waiter came back presently to say Mr. Rollins
would be right along. Twenty-five minutes past twelve. Oyster trade
nearly over. Gaudy-curtained booths on the left all empty but two.
Oyster-openers and waiters--three of them in all--nearly done for
the night, and two of them sparring and scuffling behind a pile of
oysters on the trough, with the colored print of the great prize
fight between Tom Hyer and Yankee Sullivan, in a veneered frame
above them on the wall. Blower up from the fire opposite the bar,
and stewpans and griddles empty and idle on the bench beside it,
among the unwashed bowls and dishes. Oyster trade nearly over.
Bar still busy.

Here comes Rollins in his shirt-sleeves, with an apron on. Thick-set,
muscular man,--frizzled head, low forehead, sharp, black eyes,
flabby face, with a false, greasy smile on it now, oiling over
a curious, stealthy expression of mingled surprise and inquiry,
as he sees his landlord here at this unusual hour.

"Come in here, Mr. Rollins; I want to speak to you."

"Yes, sir. Jim" (to the waiter), "go and tend bar." They sat down
in one of the booths, and lowered the curtain. Dr. Renton, at one
side of the table within, looking at Rollins, sitting leaning on
his folded arms, at the other side.

"Mr. Rollins, I am told the man who was stabbed here last night
is dead. Is that so?"

"Well, he is, Dr. Renton. Died this afternoon."

"Mr. Rollins, this is a serious matter; what are you going to do
about it?"

"Can't help it, sir. Who's a-goin' to touch _me?_ Called in a watchman.
Whole mess of 'em had cut. Who knows 'em? Nobody knows 'em. Man that
was stuck never see the fellers as stuck him in all his life till
then. Didn't know which one of 'em did it. Didn't know nothing.
Don't now, an' never will, 'nless he meets 'em in hell. That's
all. Feller's dead, an' who's a-goin' to touch _me?_ Can't do it.
Ca-n-'t do it."

"Mr. Rollins," said Dr. Renton, thoroughly disgusted with this man's
brutal indifference, "your lease expires in three days."

"Well, it does. Hope to make a renewal with you, Dr. Renton. Trade's
good here. Shouldn't mind more rent on, if you insist,--hope you
won't,--if it's anything in reason. Promise sollum, I sha'n't have
no more fightin' in here. Couldn't help this. Accidents _will_
happen, yo' know."

"Mr. Rollins, the case