y said yes. "Well, that
shows what a fool you are, Ed. Don't bother me any more. I've got work
to do."

"Say, Anderson," began Alf Reesling from the outer circle, "I got
something important to tell--"

"Who is that? Alf Reesling?" cried Anderson wrathfully.

"Yes; I want to see you private, Anderson. Its important," begged Alf.

"How many times have I got to set down on you, Alf Reesling?" exploded
Anderson. "Doggone, I'd like to know how a man's to solve mysteries if
he's got to stand around half the time an' listen to fambly quarrels.
Tell yer wife I'll--"

"This ain't no family quarrel. Besides, I ain't got no wife. It's about
this here--"

"That'll do, now, Alf! Not another word out of you!" commanded Anderson
direfully.

"But, dern you, Anderson," exploded Alf, "I've got to tell you--"

But Anderson held up a hand.

"Don't swear in the presence of the dead," he said solemnly. "You're
drunk, Alf; go home!" And Alf, news and all was hustled from the
schoolhouse by a self-appointed committee of ten.

"Now, we'll search fer the body," announced Anderson. "Git out of the
way, Bud!"

"I ain't standin' on it," protested twelve-year-old Bud Long.

"Well, you're standin' mighty near them blood-stains an'--"

"Yes, 'n ain't blood a part of the body?" rasped Isaac Porter
scornfully; whereupon Bud faded into the outer rim.

"First we'll look down cellar," said Mr. Crow. "Where's the cellar at?"

"There ain't none," replied Elon Jones.

"What? No cellar? Well, where in thunder did they hide the body, then?"

"There's an attic," ventured Joe Perkins.

A searching party headed by Anderson Crow shinned up the ladder to the
low garret. No trace of a body was to be found, and the searchers came
down rather thankfully. Then, under Mr. Crow's direction, they searched
the wood piles, the woods, and the fields for many rods in all
directions. At noon they congregated at the schoolhouse. Alf Reesling
was there.

"Find it?" said he thickly, with a cunning leer. He had been drinking.
Anderson was tempted to club him half to death, but instead he sent him
home with Joe Perkins, refusing absolutely to hear what the town
drunkard had to say.

"Well, you'll wish you'd listened to me," ominously hiccoughed Alf; and
then, as a parting shot, "I wouldn't tell you now fer eighteen dollars
cash. You c'n go to thunder!" It was _lese majeste_, but the crowd did
nothing worse than stare at the offender.

Before starting off