Bellefonte, Pa., February 14, 1980.
“AIN'T IT FINE TODAY!”
Sure, this world is full of trouble—
I ain't said it ain't.
Lord! I've had enough, an’ double
Reason for complaint.
Rain an’ storm have come to fret me,
Skies were often gray;
Thorns an’ brambles have beset me
On the road, but say,
“Ain't it fine today!’
What's the use: of always weepin’,
Makin’ trouble last?
What's the use of always keepin’
Thinkin’ of the past?
Each must have his tribulation
Water with his wine.
Life it ain't no celebration.
Trouble? I've had mine—
But today is fine.
It's today that I am livin’.
Not a month ago,
Havin’, losin’, takin’, givin’
As time wills it so.
Yesterday a cloud of sorrow
Fell across the way;
It may rain again tomorrow,
It may rain—but, say,
‘Ain't it fine today!”
—Douglas Malloch.
THE SAD END OF
OF MR. Wm.
There were times when
almost hated his profession, when he
felt himself filled with an intense
loathing of the sickening details of
various crimes which he was called
upon to investigate. The room in
the Euston Road Temperance Hotel
to which he had been summoned
hastily, its barren disorder, the piti-
ful unclean meagerness of the whole
setting, perhaps rendered more ter-
rible still by the sight of the lifeless
body crumpled up across the iron
bedstead, at first glance filled him
with nothing but disgust.
Police Constable Collier, summon-
ed from his beat to take charge of
the room until one of his superiors
should arrive, loked at the matter,
however, differently. It was a gala
morning for him, whose taste for
sensation usually had to be ap-
peased by the arrest of a pickpocket,
or the stopping of a drunken brawl.
“Copped it fair, he did, sir,” he
remarked as he pointed to the small
blue hole in the man’s forehead.
“Was he dead when they fetched
you?” Benskin asked.
“Dead as mutton, sir.”
The detective stood a little away
from the bed and studied the room.
A single cane chair with a broken
leg was lying on its back; a worn
strip of linoleum was rolled up and
disarranged. The bedclothes were in
disorder, a broken glass which
smelled of spirits lay upon the floor.
There was a handful of loose money
on the mantelpiece and, curiously
STARR
Benskin
enough, a gold watch and chain, ap- |
parently of considerable value.
Benskin, conquering an aversion
from which he had never wholly suc-
ceeded in freeing himself, came a
little closer to the bed and examin- |
ed the dead man. The latter was ap-
parently of middle age, clean shav-
en, wearing the shirt and trousers
of a laboring man, but presenting
many indications of a superior sta-
tion in life. On the floor by the
side of the bed wasa modern look-
ing revolver from which one car-
tridge had been dicharged.
“What about the doctor?”
detective inquired.
“The waiter’s gone round to the
hospital for Doctor Jacobs, sir. His
surgery’s in the next street. The
woman as keeps the house, she’s
downstairs waiting for you.”
“Bring her up,” was the prompt
command. ;
Police Constable Collier departed
upon his errand. In due course
there were heavy footsteps upon the
stairs, and he ushered in a lady
whom he announced as the pro-
prietress of the hotel. Except that
she was rather inclined to be fat
instead of thin, she conformed very
faithfully to type. She was untidy,
nervous and almost incoherent.
“Do you know the name of this
poor. fellow?” Benskin asked, point-
ing towards the bed.
“Mr. Brown, he called himself, sir.
Don’t know whether that’s his right
name or not.”
“How long has he been
here?”
“Three nights—leastways he
slept here three nights. He hasn't
been in much during the daytime.”
“Do you know anything about
him ?”
“Nothing except he’s paid a week’s
rent in advance for the room.”
“Was he staying here alone?
he any visitors?”
“None that I know of,” the wo-
man replied. ‘I ain't always about,
of course, but there was no one
with him permanent.”
the
staying
Had
“Was this all his luggage?” Ben-
skin asked, ponting to a shabby
kit-bag, from which the initials
seemed to have been scratched away,
and a cheap green canvas portman-
teau.
“All that I know of” she re-
marked. ‘“He had a trunk when he
come, but he took that away the
next day.”
“Did he say what his occupation
was?”
“Something out of work. He
wasn't fond of talking about
himself, but he did let that slip.
Kind of clerk, or something of that
sort.”
Benskin
thoughtfully.
in the night?” he inquired.
thing.”
“Do you know what time he came
in?”
“Not an idea. I never spies up-
on my lodgers as long as they be-
haves themselves. Besides, I sleep
in the attic.”
“Anyone nearer
to have heard him?”
“Not last night’ the woman de-
cided, after a moment's reflection.
“There's no one in the two lower
rooms.”
There was a knock at the door,
and Doctor Jacobs entered. He was a
pale, weary-looking man, with hook-
looked at the body
“Did you hear a shot
“Not a
than you likely
ed nose, thinning gray hair and a
tired stoop of the shoulders. He de-
posited his little black bag on the
edge of the bed, greeted the proprie-
Benskin.
“Inspector. Benskin of Scotland
Yard,” the latter announced. “Iwas
fetched here by telephone call from
the Constable on point duty here.
You can see the cause.”
He indicated the figure upon the
bed. The doctor put on a pair of
horn-rimmed spectacles and made a
brief but singularly cold-blooded
examination.
“Bullet shot through the head,” he
remarked, “Close quarters, I should
say. Case of suicide, I suppose.
Wait a moment.” :
He unfastened the man’s waist-
coat. A little expression of sur-
prise escaped him.
“What is it?”
drawing nearer.
The doctor pointed downwards.
“The clothes of a poor man outside,”
he observed—*“but pale blue silk un-
derclothes. Seems quaint!”
The detective leaned a little far-
ther over the bed. The doctor was
right. The man’s undershirt was
of thick spun silk. He felt round
the back of the neck. Inside was
the name of a famous Bond Street
hosier.
“Someone in hiding, I imagine,”
the doctor propounded indifferently.
“That’s your job, not mine, anyway.
Cause of death, that bullet wound,
without a doubt.” :
“How long should you say he had
been dead?”
The doctor occupied himself with
the body for a few minutes. “About
six hours,” he decided. He took up
the revolver, shook out the car-
tridges and held the weapon to his
own forehead. “Very simple,” he
observed. “I'll just do what's nec-
essary, and then I suppose it will
be the mortuary.”
He bent over the bed once more,
and Benskin continued his search
of the room. The gold watch had
the maker's name in it,
were the torn fragments of several
Benskin asked,
the breast pocket of his coat. The
markings had been removed from
the few other articles of clothing.
There was nothing in the shape of
identification was possible. The doc-
tor stood up and wrote a few
lines in his memorandum book.
“Any fresh discoveries?” Benskin
inquired.
“Nothing to discover,” was the
wary reply. “I'll give you the cer-
tificate when necessary. I suppose
my fee—"
er assured him.
The doctor took his leave, follow-
ed a few minutes later by his fellow
investigator.
Soon after the appearance of the
evening papers a middle-aged man,
accompanied by a young lady in a
state of considerable agitation, pre-
sented himself at Scotland Yard and
the two were ushered into Benskin’s'
room. The young lady, who was
good-looking in a somewhat ordinary
way, addressed him at once.
“Miss Hammond, my name
she explained. “I'm typist and pri-
vate secretary to Mr, William Starr.
He’s been missing for several days.
We thought he’d gone abroad but
we saw in the paper—"
She broke down for a moment.
Her companion interposed a word.
“I'm Mr. Starr’s servant, sir,” he
announced. “It's quite right what
the young lady says. Mr. Starr
went off last Thursday-—we though
he was going to Boulogne for the
week-end; but there’ve been a lot
of people trying to see him since,
and we ain't heard anything of him.
“Of course it doesn’t seem pos-
sible,” the young lady went on,
“put when I read in the evening pa-
per about a man having been found
in the Euston Road, and the de-
scription and everything, it gave me
‘quite a shock. I showed the paper
to Furnell here, and he thought we
ought to go there and make sure.”
“Couldn’t have rested quietly un-
less we had, sir,” the man con-
cluded. “When we got there a
policeman told us the body had been
moved to the mortuary, and that
ywe couldn't get in to see it without
an order.”
Benskin took dwon his hat. “I'm
sorry,” he said to the young lady.
“You won't find it a very pleasant
place to visit, but I will take you
down there. First, however, in order
to prepare you a little, do you
recognize this?”
He produced the gold watch. The
man turned it over in his hand with
an exclamation of dismay.
“It’s the master’s, sir,” he con-
fided. “Was that found with the—
| with the body of the mian who shot
himself ?”
“It was, and there is another
thing—with whom did your master
deal—say for his underclothes ?”
“Beale and Inman in Bond Street,
sir.”
“Did he ever wear light blue silk
ones?” .
“Nearly all the time!” the young
lady cried.
“Then I am afraid you must
prepare yourselves for the worst,”
Benskin warned them.
It was an unpleasant errand, but
brief enough. The girl gave one glance
at the dead man’s face and burst
into sobs. Her companion looked
away with a shiver.
“That’s the master,
nounced—“that’s him
doubt. As good a one as ever I
shall find again in this world, and
what he wanted to do it for when
there's heaps of his friends he's
helped himself who'd have given
him a hand if he only hadn't been
too proud to ask for it; I was kind
of suspicious,” he went on, “when
he gave me my wages six months
in advance in case he didn't get
back.”
Benskin escorted them to the
police car which was waiting and
handed them in. “I shall be staying
here a few minutes,” the said.
(“There are still one or two formal-
ities. Will you give me your names
and addresses, please?”
| “The girl took out a card and
sir,” he an-
without a
tress and looked inquiringly towards .
and there '
letters which he carefully placedin
cards or papers by which immediate
“That will be all right,” the oth-
is,” i
name on the
wrote the servant's
back.
“Was Mr. Starr in business?”
Benskin asked her. 5 :
The girl nodded. “He was a fi-
nancial agent amd. cen
agent .ad. company promo-
ter,” she . explained. “He's floated
some wonderful companies in his
time. Just now he wasn't doing
quite so well, and he seemed very
queer and irritable. What Furnell
says is quite true, though. There's
plenty would have helped him if he'd
been a little more confidential.”
“You knew that-he was hard up,
I suppose, then?”
The girl hesitated. “I couldn’t
help knowing it,” she admitted.
“Everyone seemed to be tumbling
over themselves to get money out
of him. Will there be an inquest?”
Benskin nodded. “Naturally. You
will have to give evidence, I am
afraid, but as it is such a simple
case it will be only a matter of a
few minutes. You will get your
subpoenas in due course.”
“And the funeral?” the girl fal-
tered her eyes again filling with
tears.
“The day afterwards, I
By the by, what was Mr.
address?”
| “Number 7-A, Clarges
the man replied.
“You are staying there?”
“Yes sir. I've had no order to
imagine,
Starr's
Street,”
leave. I suppose someone will come
‘along who'll look after affairs as
soon as the news gets about.”
i “7-A, Clarges Street,” Benskin
, repeated. “Please be there in an
hour’s time, if you don’t mind.
There are one or two little formar-
ities to be attended to, and I might
have to go through some of his
papers.’
“IT will be
lady promised.
tell you anything
know.”
She spoke almost eagerly. Ben-
skin took off his hat and waved the
car onwards. His eyes were on the
girl’s face until the last moment.
The Sub-Commissioner never had
been more surprised than when Ben-
skin presented himself in his room
early on the morning fixed for the
inquest and asked that an applica-
tion for a formal adjournment should
be made.
“What on earth are you going to
say, Benskin?” he demanded. “What
reason could there possibly be for
an adjournment? It seems to me
that never in
8 clearer case.”
“I thought so at first,” the other
admitted. “Sometimes I think so
Inow, and yet there are one or two
very peculiar points about it.”
| “The long and the short of the
| matter is, I suppose,” the Sub-Com-
missioner remarked, “that you think
the man was murdered instead of
having committed suicide?”
| His subordinate avoided a definite
{ response. “I really am completely
in the dark at present, sir,” he ac-
: knowledged. ‘You know how one
has to trust to instinct sometimes.”
“Your instinct has been worth
following more than once,” the
Sub-Commissioner admitted. “Let's
hear a little more.”
“Well, I didn’t like the doctor,”
‘Benskin confessed. ‘He seemed to
take everything much too much for
granted. Then there was another
thing. When he took off the under-
shirt. I saw distinctly on the man’s
arms the marks of hypodermic in-
jections. The doctor too must have
seen them. He made no remark,
failed to call my attention to them
or to examine them himself. He
just took up the revolver and show-
there too,” the young
“I shall be able to
you want to
ed me how he thought the thing
was done.”
“What about the motive?” the
Sub-Commissioner asked. “There’s
a very serious motive for suicide;
none whatever that I can see for
murder. The man had lost all his
money. His bankers had called in
his overdraft, and his creditors were
clamoring around him. The little
cash he had in his pocket and the
.gold watch were untouched. Of
course he may have had complica-
tions in his life we know nothing
my life have I seen.
“111 stand you the best dinner I've
ever ordered in my life.”
" So, at the end of that dreary for-
mal function which took place on
the day arranged, a thunderbolt
flashed into the court. The doctor's
evidence~ followed by Miss Ham-
mond’s, seemed so conclusively to
point to suicide that people took
scant interest in the case. The
general public deserted almost in a
body before the coroner addressed
himself to the jury. Then, quite un-
expectedly, Benskin got up in his
place and on behalf of the police
made formal application for an ad-
journment. The coroner looked at
him in amazement.
“An adjournment?” he exclaimed.
“But for what reason?”
“The police have had very little
time to make inquiries,” Benskin
pointed out. “They admit that the
evidence as to suicide is, on the
face of it, conclusive. On the other
hand, they feel that in view of the
fact that a large portion of the
deceased's assets apparently have
disappeared, they should like an op-
portunity of making a few inquiries
before the matter is absolutely clos-
ed A man who deals in large sums
of money without keeping proper
books in which their disposal could
be traced, is, as you must admit,
one -of the most possible victims for
a cleverly constructed crime.”
The witnesses, Furnell, the doctor
and Miss Hammond, were all seated
in the well of the court, together
with a lawyer who was understood
to be representing them. The latter
rose.
“It has occurred very seldom in
my lifetime, Mr. Coroner,” he said,
“that I have found myself in the
position of protesting against such
an applicaton as has just been made,
especially when it has been made
under the auspices of Scotland Yard,
but I cannot for the life of me see
the use or the advantage to any-
body of the proposed adjournment.
A clearer case of suicide, I venture
to say, never was laid before you,
sir. Why should my witnesses be
inconvenienced, the poor fellow’s
funeral postponed, for no reason
whatsoever ?”
The coroner cleared his throat.
“Mr. Ellis, I feel a considerable
amount of sympathy with what you
have just said,” he admitted. “At
the same time it never has been my
custom to diregard an application
made by a responsible person on be-
half of the police. The inquest
adjourned until a week from to-
day.
The few stragglers in the court
rose to their feet and made towards
the exit. The girl remained in her
‘seat for a moment, her eyes upon
Benskin.
to him.
“I can’t imagine why you wish to
waste our time in this manner sir,”
he protested sharply. ‘The
affair is so simple. From the
The doctor shambled up
mo-
ment I saw the body, I realized ex- '
actly what had happened, and the
evidence has confirmed my convic-
tion. Adjourn the inquest, indeed!
I never have heard of anythng so
foolish! ~ You police can't have
enough to keep you busy.”
“I. am very sorry if it inconven-
iences any of you,” Benskin replied
politely. “You see, there are just
one or two more inquiries which
should be made before a serious
matter like this is
jury’s verdict once given
you must remember.’
is final,
The doctor hurried off, with a
little grunt of disgust. Somewhat
to Benskin’'s surprise, when he
reached the pavement he found the
girl standing by his side. She was
lookng a little pale, but she was
quite collected.
“Shall I see you again before the
adjourned inquest, Mr. Benskin?”
she asked. “There are letters every
morning which of course you
see if you like.”
“I'll look round if I may,” Ben-
skin promised. “I'm sorry to bother
“you all this way.”
about yet. Have you stumbled across
one of them, by any chance?”
“I cant say that I have,” Ben-
skin admitted, “There is no doubt
that he was on very friendly terms
with the secretary, to whom ap-
parently he had left anything that
might be saved from the wreck of
his estates. Beyond that, I gather
that he led the ordinary life of a
middle-aged man about town.”
“How would his financial position
pan out exactly?”
“Badly, without a doubt. I
called upon the young lady secre-
tary again yesterday to see wheth-
er I could pick up any further in-
“You ought to know whether it
is necessary,” was the quiet rejoinder.
“If it is, then of course we have
nothing to complain about.”
“It will be only for a week, after
all,” Benskin reminded her. “I am
afraid I'm rather unpopular with all
of you, especially the doctor, but
one gets ideas, you know.”
She looked at him keenly. “I won- |
‘der what yours is.”
“Probably a mare's nest.’
Before the week was up, Ben-
skin received a call from Miss Ham-
mond. She was wearing a little
more rouge than when he had first
seen her and she had apparently
used her lipstick freely. She enter-
' ed the office boldly, as one who has a
| formation, and I must admit I was.
‘ astounded.”
i “In what way?”
He seems to have dealt largely
in stocks and shares and property,”
Benskin explained, “without keeping '
any account of his transactions ex-
cept what the entries in his bank-
book disclose. Then, this last year
especially, he has been drawing
considerable sums of money from
his bank just on the day before
any of the great race meetings.”
“But still,” the Sub-Commissioner
urged, “why do you want the in-
quest adjourned?” .
“Because there is something be-
hind the whole affair I can’t figure
out I should like a little more time to
inquire into his private life. We are
taking it for granted now that he
committed suicide because he was
undoubtedly in desperate straits, and
there appears to be not the slighest
motive for anyone to have shot him.
That may be because we know so
little of his private life. A man liv-
ing as he did naturally must have
had enemies. I only want a few
days.”
“We shall ,be confoundedly un-
popular,” his chief grumbled, “but
of course if you really want it we'll
apply.”
“I must have it,” Benskin con-
fessed. “I hate making myself a
nuisance, but I think the coroner
will forgive me some day—at least
T hope so.”
| “If he ever does,” the Sub-Com-
missioner remarked incredulously,
grievance. Her manner was, if any- |
thing, a little overconfident. Never-
theless, there was disquietude in
her eyes..
“I want to know, Mr. Benskin,”
she said, “why I am being followed.”
“Followed?” he repeated. “By
whom ?”
“That is what I came to ask you,”
she rejoined. “All that I know is
thet twice during the last three
days I have started out to pay a
visit to a friend, and discover-
ed that a person whom I have seen
loitering upon the other side of
Clarges Street has dogged my foot-
steps.”
“That seems very quaint,” Ben-
skin observed. “If the person an-
noys you in any way, I should ap-
peal to the nearest policeman.”
“Are you sure that it is not the
police who are responsible?” she de-
manded.
Benskin looked at her with those
very innocent blue eyes of his wide
open. “My dear young lady,” he
exclaimed, “why on earth should the
police take any interest in you?”
“I don’t know, I'm sure,” she ad-
mitted. ‘Wherever I go, this man
follows me. Twice I've given up go-
ing to visit my friend’
“Why change your plans because
you were followed?” Benskin asked
swiftly. :
The girl was momentarily at a
loss. “No particular reason why I
should, but I don't like people pry-
ing into my concerns.”
“Miss Hammond,” he assured her,
a little more gravely, “I don’t think
is .
whole |
concluded. The .
can
| believe, house physician to St. Luke's,
that anyone wants to pry into your
concerns. At the same time, you
must: remember that your late em-
ployer, Mr. Starr, died under very
peculiar circumstances. He. was re-
puted to be a wealthy maf: He has
left behind him nothing but debts. He
is known to have been possessed of
considerable property, stocks and
shares. There is no evidence at all,
not even in his bank-accounts, of
how he has disposed of these, You
are the only person who might have
thrown light upon the situation,
and you say you can’t.”
“But how can I?” she protested.
“Mr. Starr kept no books—his was
a one man business—he didn't need
to. If he had kept books, as he
said, he would have been liable to
tax.”
“Just so,” Benskin agreed. “Well,
I am afraid I can’t help you, Miss
Hammond. You must remember
that Mr. Starr had some very heavy
creditors. Any one of them might
be interested in your movenients.”
The girl took leave, and Benskin,
ais soon as she had gone, glanced
through the report of her move-
ments on the previous day.
The adjourned inquest
opened contained marks of the
on the shoulder. Two policemen ap-
peared from- the- back of ‘the court.
It took half a dozen men to make
a lane through which Miss ~Daphne
Hammond, Doctor. Jacobs and ~ Wil-
liam * Furnell were: conducted ‘to the
police van which awaited them.
The Sub-Commissioner kept his
word. He entertained Benskin that
night to the best dinner his club
could provide,
“Benskin,” he said, “the Chief de-
sires me to present to you his com-
pliments. You have done the force
a remarkably good service. All the
evening papers have laudatory ar-
ticles concerning us, but we will see
that you get the credit to which
you are entitled. I don’t want ail
the details. I've picked up a few
‘already, but just give me an idea
how you tumbled to the thing. Here's
your very good health!
“Well, it began like this,” Benskin
explained, setting down his glass and
helping himself to caviar. “I
thought it extraordinary that Doctor
Jacobs made no remark about the
numerous scars on the man's
from the hypodermic injections, and
, then, too, I noticed that the body
injection
without any indications of the sen- sometimes made at a hospital toin-
sation in which
it was to result. sure that death actually has taken
Phe jury once more viewed the place. Then all sorts of little suspi-
body. Miss Hammond and Furnell cious things cropped up.
the servant, again gave their
dence followed, almost word for
word the same as on the previous
occasion.
The coroner, however, instead of
addressing the jury at once, referred
to some papers by his side, and one
or two observant people in the court
noticed a distinct change in his man-
ner. He nodded to the sergeant,
who threw open the door of the
witness-box,
“Police Surgeon Harding.”
“The police surgeon stepped into
the box. Doctor Jacobs, who was
seated just below, started slightly
and leaned forward in his place. The
coroner addressed the new witness.
“You did not at first examine the
body of the deceased?” he asked.
“I did not, sir,” the surgeon ac-
knowledged. “In the face of the
testimony of Doctor Jacobs, who was
called in and who is a fully quali-
fied man, it was not thought neces-
sary. I had two inquests that day
on the other side of London.”
“You have since, however, at the
request of the police examined the
‘body ?”
“I have sir.”
“Tell us what conclusions you ar-
, rived at.”
evi-
“First of all, the cunning way the
man was supposed to have crept in-
to hiding, and yet in the matter of
his underclothes and gold watch left
evidences as to his identity. Then
there was the disappearance of all
his ready money, leaving nothing
but debts behind. I couldn’t make
head or tail of his bank-book, so I
had a long talk with the bank
manager who was very sympathetic,
chiefly because he dislikes Starr.
{ We arrived in due course at a
pretty clear idea of the man’s finan-
cial position. He’d been a rich man
once, without a doubt, but he lost
fifty thousand pounds in rubber two
{years ago, and that started him on
this game. Whenever he got a chance
he paid in money which he received
from various quarters to a bank-
account abroad, and as he couldn't
build up fast enough that way, he
kept on drawing large amounts
through his own bank, and pretend-
ing he’d lost them at race meet-
ings.
“All this time, of course, he paid
nobody, and he entered into every
, speculation where he could get a
few months’ credit and draw in a
certain amount of cash. In this
fashion he drained away the whole
+ The surgeon hesitated. “I will ad- "of his assets, and built up a reserve
‘mit the possibility of error, sir,” he 'of something like seventy thousand
said, “but I came to the conclusion pounds in hard cash,
all deposited
that the deceased had been dead for |abroad.
several days longer than the period.
“As soon as I had arrived at
stated, and that death was due to, those facts, I put aside all idea of
morphine poisoning. The deceased suicide
,was clearly an addict.”
court.
“What about the revolver shot in
the forehead?” the coroner contin-
ued.
“TI came to the conclusion, sir,”
the witness replied, “that the shot
had been fired into the head of the
deceased some time after death.”
Silence was impossible. There was
a babel of whispering. voices through-
out the court, Doctor Jacobs, it was
noticed was livid. Miss Hammond
was rubbing her face with her
handkerchief. The trembling fingers
‘of her other hand held a stick of
lip-salve.
“That is a most extraordinary
statement of yours, doctor,” the
coroner pointed out.
“It is the result of my very care-
ful examination of the body,”
the police surgeon said.
i The coroner waved him away, and
his place was taken by a well-dres-
sed, portly looking gentleman. The
coroner turned towards him.
“Your name is Doctor Marriott, I
the
' Euston.”
“That is my name and position.”
{At this point Doctor Jacobs was
seen to rise stealthily to his feet. A
burly-looking man in plain clothes
who was standing immediately be-
(hind touched him on the shoulder,
however, and he resumed his place.
! “You have seen the body of the
deceased ?”’
| “Yes, sir.”
“Are you able to identify it?”
“Certainly. It is the body of Sid-
ney John Mason, who died in one
(of my wards last Thursday week
‘from morphine poisoning.”
| The murmur of voices rose until
and worked upon a theory
of my own, which turned out to be
There was a ripple of sensationin the correct one. I looked up Doctor
| Jacobs’ past, and I didn’t think
‘much of it. I paid a visit to the
"hospital and discovered that a pa-
i tient, attended by Doctor Jacobs, had
died there three days before of
morphine poisoning, and had been
buried at a certain cemetery near. *
i “A few more inquiries, and I dis-
covered that Doctor Jacobs was pay-
ing off some ‘pressing debts *' and
was ordering whisky by the case in-
stead of by the bottle, that two men
from the undertaker’s establishment
with whom the hospital had a con-
tract had been drunk for two days,
and that Miss Hammond was divid-
ing her time between buying a
trousseau and trying to get down
to Tilbury.
“Starr had thought the scheme
out carefully enough. He had got
hold of a crook doctor, spent money
freely, squared the landlady at the
, Temperance Hotel and up to a cer-
‘tain point the thing worked out ac-
| cording to plan.”
“And what about Starr?”
“Well, we shall know in a few
minutes,” Benskin replied, looking
down the crowded room.
| An offical looking messenger, pre-
ceded by one of the club officials,
was making his way towards them.
Benskin, with a word of apology to
his chief, tore open the envelop of
the note which the messenger hand-
‘ed to him.
| “Starr was arrested this afternoon
at Tilbury,” he announced. “He and
‘Miss Hammond were off on the
, Commissioner.
the coroner was forced to tap sharp-'
ly upon the table before him. As
soon as silence was restored he
turned back to the witness with a
question.
“Can you account in any way for
the body of one of your patients, who
,died in your hospital and who
‘should have been buried under its
, auspices, being found in a temper-
ance hotel in the Euston Road, sur-
i rounded by evidences of another per-
| sonality ?”
“If my answer to your question
involves no contempt of the court,”
the witness replied, “I should reply
at once that the fact can be ac-
counted for only by the existence of
a cleverly exploited and carried
out conspiracy. Mason's body left
the hospital for burial at two on the
| day arranged for. A coffin was de-
' posited in the grave prepared, before
three o'clock.”
| “You know that the grave has
been dug up, and the coffin found
to contain nothing but bricks?”
the coroner asked.
“Such is my information.”
Three times the coroner was forced
to appeal for silence. At last he
rose to his feet.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” he said,
, “your unnecessary presence here, as
you have now gathered, has been
"due to a conspiracy with which an-
' other court will have to deal.
| are discharged immediately from the
present case, and relieved from all
future services for two years. Any
‘further proceedings in connection
‘with the deceased,” the coroner pro-
ceeded dryly, with a significant
glance in front of him, “wll take
in another court.”
| The burly-lookng man leaned for-
ward and touched Doctor Jacobsup-
You ~
Ortana tonight for the South Sea
Isalands.”
“Poor rascal!” sighed the Sub-
—Hearst’s Interna-
tional Cosmopolitan.
REAL ESTATE TRANSFERS.
Bellefonte Trust company, Adm.
to Bond M. Hartsock, tract in Pat-
ton Twp.; $600.
Eleanor R. Gettig to Harry C.
Rothrock, et ux, tract in Port Ma-
tilda; $1.
Luther Strouse, et ux, to N. 8.
Jones, et ux, tract in Ferguson
Twp.; $709.60.
D. P. Woodring, et ux, to Willis
D. Woodring, tract in Port Matilda;
$500.
Jacob Krumrine to Daniel A,
Krumrine et ux, tract in State Col-
lege; $1.
Susan Kerin, et al, to Thomas W,
Kerin, et ux, tract in Snow Sh
Twp.; $1.
Hattie Miller to Witmer Steel
Co., tract in Miles Twp., et al; $300.
George E. Stover et ux, to A. S,
Stover, tract in Haines Twp.; $1.
Olga K. Messmer, et bar to
Harold H. Shirk, et ux, tract in
State College; $8,400.
H. W.Rote et al, to John Rachau,
tract in Gregg Twp.; $565.
John Rachau, et ux, to Roy R.
Zettle tract in Gregg Twp.; $650.
Lizzie Homan to J. L. Miller,
tract in Penn Twp.; $100.
George Cartright, et ux, to John
J. Cartright, et ux, tract in Snow
Shoe Twp.; $1.
Senior (accidentally stepping on
Sophomore’s foot) —Pardon me,
didn’t mean to walk on your foot.”
Sophomore—*“Oh, that’s all right; I
walk on them myself.” - .
—“The Mountain Echo,” Altoona.