as not quite used to that
side-whisker yet, for it had only recently come within the margin of
cultivation. In active service Grodman had been clean-shaven, like all
members of the profession--for surely your detective is the most
versatile of actors. Mrs. Drabdump closed the street door quietly, and
pointed to the stairs, fear operating like a polite desire to give him
precedence. Grodman ascended, amusement still glimmering in his eyes.
Arrived on the landing he knocked peremptorily at the door, crying,
"Nine o'clock, Mr. Constant; nine o'clock!" When he ceased there was no
other sound or movement. His face grew more serious. He waited, then
knocked, and cried louder. He turned the handle, but the door was fast.
He tried to peer through the keyhole, but it was blocked. He shook the
upper panels, but the door seemed bolted as well as locked. He stood
still, his face set and rigid, for he liked and esteemed the man.

"Ay, knock your loudest," whispered the pale-faced woman. "You'll not
wake him now."

The gray mist had followed them through the street door, and hovered
about the staircase, charging the air with a moist, sepulchral odor.

"Locked and bolted," muttered Grodman, shaking the door afresh.

"Burst it open," breathed the woman, trembling violently all over, and
holding her hands before her as if to ward off the dreadful vision.
Without another word, Grodman applied his shoulder to the door, and made
a violent muscular effort. He had been an athlete in his time, and the
sap was yet in him. The door creaked, little by little it began to give,
the woodwork enclosing the bolt of the lock splintered, the panels bent
upward, the large upper bolt tore off its iron staple; the door flew
back with a crash. Grodman rushed in.

"My God!" he cried. The woman shrieked. The sight was too terrible.

* * * * *

Within a few hours the jubilant news-boys were shrieking "Horrible
Suicide in Bow," and "The Star" poster added, for the satisfaction of
those too poor to purchase: "A Philanthropist Cuts His Throat."

CHAPTER II.

But the newspapers were premature. Scotland Yard refused to prejudge the
case despite the penny-a-liners. Several arrests were made, so that the
later editions were compelled to soften "Suicide" into "Mystery." The
people arrested were a nondescript collection of tramps. Most of them
had committed other offenses for which the police had not arrested them.
One