ble man in private life, and will be
greatly missed in the circles to which he had endeared himself. He
leaves a widow and a small family. It may be worth adding that when
discovered dead, there was a smile upon his face, as if he had at last
found peace. He must have suffered great agony that forenoon, and his
death is best looked upon as a happy release.

* * * * *

Marriot, Scrymgeour and I awarded the tin of Arcadia to Pettigrew,
because he alone of the competitors seemed to believe that his dream
might be realized.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXX.

THE MURDER IN THE INN.

Sometimes I think it is all a dream, and that I did not really murder
the waits. Perhaps they are living still. Yet the scene is very vivid
before me, though the affair took place--if it ever did take place--so
long ago that I cannot be expected to remember the details. The time
when I must give up smoking was drawing near, so that I may have been
unusually irritable, and determined, whatever the cost, to smoke my last
pound-tin of the Arcadia in peace. I think my brier was in my mouth when
I did it, but after the lapse of months I cannot say whether there were
three of them or only two. So far as I can remember, I took the man with
the beard first.

The incident would have made more impression on me had there been any
talk about it. So far as I could discover, it never got into the papers.
The porters did not seem to think it any affair of theirs, though one of
them must have guessed why I invited the waits upstairs. He saw me open
the door to them; he was aware that this was their third visit in a
week; and only the night before he had heard me shout a warning to them
from my inn window. But of course the porters must allow themselves a
certain discretion in the performance of their duties. Then there was
the pleasant gentleman of the next door but two, who ran against me
just as I was toppling the second body over the railing. We were not
acquainted, but I knew him as the man who had flung a water-jug at the
waits the night before. He stopped short when he saw the body (it had
rolled out of the sofa-rug), and looked at me suspiciously. "He is one
of the waits," I said. "I beg your pardon," he replied, "I did not
understand." When he had passed a few yards he turned round. "Better
cover him up," he said; "our people will talk." Then he strolled away,
an air from "The Grand Duchess" l