ying to conceal my utter
bewilderment.

"Yes--about thirty, they say. The police have taken him to the mortuary
at Dumfries, and the detectives are up there now looking at the spot,
they say."

A man! And yet the body I found was that of a woman--that I could swear.

After lunch I took the dog-cart and drove alone into Dumfries.

When I inquired of the police-constable on duty at the town mortuary to
be allowed to view the body of the murdered man, he regarded me, I
thought, with considerable suspicion. My request was an unusual one.
Nevertheless, he took me up a narrow alley, unlocked a door, and I found
myself in the cold, gloomy chamber of death. From a small dingy window
above the light fell upon an object lying upon a large slab of gray
stone and covered with a soiled sheet.

The sight was ghastly and gruesome; the body lay there awaiting the
official inquiry into the cause of death. The silence of the tomb was
unbroken, save for the heavy tread of the policeman, who having removed
his helmet in the presence of the dead, lifted the end of the sheet,
revealing to me a white, hard-set face, with closed eyes and dropped
jaw.

I started back as my eyes fell upon the dead countenance. I was entirely
unprepared for such a revelation. The truth staggered me.

The victim was the man who had acted as my friend--the Italian waiter,
Olinto.

I advanced and peered into the thin inanimate features, scarce able to
realize the actual fact. But my eyes had not deceived me. Though death
distorts the facial expression of every man, I had no difficulty in
identifying him.

"You recognize him, sir?" remarked the officer. "Who is he? Our people
are very anxious to know, for up to the present moment they haven't
succeeded in establishing his identity."

I bit my lips. I had been an arrant fool to betray myself before that
man. Yet having done so, I saw that any attempt to conceal my knowledge
must of necessity reflect upon me.

"I will see your inspector," I answered with as much calmness as I could
muster. "Where has the poor fellow been wounded?"

"Through the heart," responded the constable, as turning the sheet
further down he showed me the small knife wound which had penetrated the
victim's jacket and vest full in the chest.

"This is the weapon," he added, taking from a shelf close by a long,
thin poignard with an ivory handle, which he handed to me.

In an instant I recognized what it was, and how deadly. It was