s. He talked, too, about a Black Stone and a
man that lisped in his speech, and he described very particularly
somebody that he never referred to without a shudder--an old man with a
young voice who could hood his eyes like a hawk.

He spoke a good deal about death, too. He was mortally anxious about
winning through with his job, but he didn't care a rush for his life.

'I reckon it's like going to sleep when you are pretty well tired out,
and waking to find a summer day with the scent of hay coming in at the
window. I used to thank God for such mornings way back in the
Blue-Grass country, and I guess I'll thank Him when I wake up on the
other side of Jordan.'

Next day he was much more cheerful, and read the life of Stonewall
Jackson much of the time. I went out to dinner with a mining engineer
I had got to see on business, and came back about half-past ten in time
for our game of chess before turning in.

I had a cigar in my mouth, I remember, as I pushed open the
smoking-room door. The lights were not lit, which struck me as odd. I
wondered if Scudder had turned in already.

I snapped the switch, but there was nobody there. Then I saw something
in the far corner which made me drop my cigar and fall into a cold
sweat.

My guest was lying sprawled on his back. There was a long knife
through his heart which skewered him to the floor.

CHAPTER TWO

The Milkman Sets Out on his Travels

I sat down in an armchair and felt very sick. That lasted for maybe
five minutes, and was succeeded by a fit of the horrors. The poor
staring white face on the floor was more than I could bear, and I
managed to get a table-cloth and cover it. Then I staggered to a
cupboard, found the brandy and swallowed several mouthfuls. I had seen
men die violently before; indeed I had killed a few myself in the
Matabele War; but this cold-blooded indoor business was different.
Still I managed to pull myself together. I looked at my watch, and saw
that it was half-past ten.

An idea seized me, and I went over the flat with a small-tooth comb.
There was nobody there, nor any trace of anybody, but I shuttered and
bolted all the windows and put the chain on the door. By this time my
wits were coming back to me, and I could think again. It took me about
an hour to figure the thing out, and I did not hurry, for, unless the
murderer came back, I had till about six o'clock in the morning for my
cogitations.

I was in the soup--