d quietly.

In the street, she walked beside Casey; her father and Otto were close
behind with O'Rourke. They turned into Sixth Street. Half a block
down, in front of Meinert's, a crowd was surging, was filling sidewalk
and street. When they came to the edge of it, Casey suddenly said "In
here" and took her by the arm. All went down a long and winding
passage, across an open court to a back door where a policeman in
uniform was on guard.

"Did you get her, Mike?" said the policeman to Casey.

"Here she is," replied Casey. "She didn't give no trouble."

The policeman opened the door. He let Casey, Hilda and O'Rourke pass.
He thrust back Brauner and Otto. "No, you don't," he said.

"Let us in!" commanded Otto, beside himself with rage.

"Not much! Get back!" He had closed the door and was standing between
it and them, one hand meaningly upon the handle of his sheathed club.

"I am her father," half-pleaded, half-protested Brauner.

"Cap'n's orders," said the policeman in a gentler voice. "The best
thing you can do is to go to the station house and wait there. You
won't get to see her here."

Meanwhile Casey, still holding Hilda by the arm, was guiding her along
a dark hall. When they touched a door he threw it open. He pushed her
roughly into the room. For a few seconds the sudden blaze of light
blinded her. Then--

Before her, stretched upon a table, was--Mr. Feuerstein. She shrank
back and gazed at him with wide, fascinated eyes. His face was turned
toward her, his eyes half-open; he seemed to be regarding her with a
glassy, hateful stare--the "curse in a dead man's eye." His chin was
fallen back and down, and his lips exposed his teeth in a hideous grin.
And then she saw-- Sticking upright from his throat was a knife, the
knife from their counter. It seemed to her to be trembling as if still
agitated from the hand that had fiercely struck out his life.

"My God!" moaned Hilda, sinking down to the floor and hiding her face.

As she crouched there, Casey said cheerfully to Captain Hanlon, "You
see she's guilty all right, Cap'n."

Hanlon took his cigar from between his teeth and nodded. At this a man
sitting near him burst out laughing. Hanlon scowled at him.

The man--Doctor Wharton, a deputy coroner--laughed again. "I suppose
you think she acts guilty," he said to Hanlon.

"Any fool could see that," retorted Hanlon.

"Any fool would see it, you'd better say," said Doctor Wharton. "