s on the right temple.

"Who did this, Swift?" he asked.

"That's the problem, Doctor," was my reply. "There are two chaps,
though, who are in a devil of a ticklish position. Since you 're here
now, it will probably be you who will conduct the inquest, and I 'm a
little curious to see how the evidence strikes you."

He nodded, and after deftly recovering his glasses, emptied the
pockets. They yielded up nothing of the slightest consequence to
either of us, and in a moment Dr. De Breen hesitated and frowned over
the body's left hand.

He presently took it in his own hand, and scrutinized it intently, I
watching him interestedly, for he had stumbled upon one of the very
points concerning which I wanted his opinion. Next he turned quickly
to the right hand. Both members were bruised and discolored in spots,
and bore a number of abrasions.

Dr. De Breen now darted one of his quick, penetrating looks at me.

"Carrying something," he said concisely. "They couldn't break his
grip--rapped him over the head."

"So that 's what you make of those scratches and bruises, is it?"--for
I wanted to be convinced.

"Sure. . . . What was it?"

"I think I know," was my reply: "an oblong, leather box, about four
inches by three or three and a half."

"Humph!"--as he filled in the blanks of a removal permit--"not much to
kill a man for."

"Ever hear of the Paternoster ruby?" said I, casually.

Dr. De Breen turned to me with uplifted brows, and his glasses at once
shot to the end of their tether. He blinked a moment.

"The devil!" he then muttered. "You don't say!"

From which I gathered that he had heard of it, and also that he had
already drawn his own inference as to the contents of the leather box.

"I 'll wait till after the inquest, Swift," he informed me at parting,
with a very direct and authoritative manner; "but if this case turns up
any promising features, I 'm in; get that?"

I grinned cheerfully. "Very well, Doc."

And the last I saw of him, as he went away, he was still feeling
aimlessly for the silken cord, the while his mind was intent upon
something else. A queer, congenial chap was Wentworth De Breen, and as
keen and fine-strung, despite his absent-mindedness, as is said to be
the bridge leading across to Mahomet's paradise. He had a whim for
dabbling in such puzzles as my calling now and then brought me face to
face with; and before I got through with Mr. Page and his ruby, this
hobby of th