have been
fair. She was found in the river, and as there are no marks of violence
on her person, the presumption is that she sought her own destruction.
"Such cases are becoming common," says the Superintendent in his matter
of fact way. "They are very sad, but we see too many of them to think
them romantic." A shudder comes over you as you gaze at the ghastly
occupant of the last table. The dead man was evidently a gentleman, for
he bears every mark of a person of good position in life. His purple,
swollen features tell you plainly that he was taken from the river.
There is a deep wound in his side, and marks of violence are numerous
about his head and neck. You gaze at the Superintendent inquiringly, and
even that cool, clear-headed official turns a shade paler as he answers,
almost under his breath, "Murdered. For his money, doubtless."

On the walls back of the tables are suspended the clothing of the
unfortunates, and of others who have preceded them. Maybe some friend
will come along and recognize them, and the one who has been missing will
be traced to this sad place. They form a strange collection, but they
speak chiefly of poverty and suffering.

The dark waters of the rivers and bay send many an inmate to this gloomy
room. The harbor police, making their early morning rounds, find some
dark object floating in the waters. It is scarcely light enough to
distinguish it, but the men know well what it is. They are accustomed to
such things. They grapple it and tow it in silent horror past the long
lines of shipping, and pause only when the Morgue looms up coldly before
them in the uncertain light of the breaking day. The still form is
lifted out of the water, and carried swiftly into the gloomy building.
It is laid on the marble slab, stripped, covered with a sheet, the water
is turned on, and the room is deserted and silent again.

So many come here on their way to their long homes. The average number
is about two hundred per year. You can scarcely take up a city newspaper
without finding one or more advertisements of persons "lost." Many of
them come here. Many are never heard of again. The waters which
encompass the city keep well the secrets confided to them, and neither
the Morgue nor the Police books can tell the fate of all the missing.
Strangers visiting the city often venture into the chosen haunts of crime
"to see the sights," and in so doing place themselves in the power of the
most