and escape, leaving my books to pay as they might my arrears of rent.
Looking out of the window, however, in the morning, I saw Stagers
prowling about the opposite pavement; and as the only exit except the
street door was an alleyway which opened along-side of the front of the
house, I gave myself up for lost. About ten o'clock I took my case
of instruments and started for File's house, followed, as I too well
understood, by Stagers.

I knew the house, which was in a small uptown street, by its closed
windows and the craped bell, which I shuddered as I touched. However,
it was too late to draw back, and I therefore inquired for Mrs. File. A
haggard-looking young woman came down, and led me into a small parlor,
for whose darkened light I was thankful enough.

"Did you write this note?"

"I did," said the woman, "if you're the coroner. Joe File--he's my
husband--he's gone out to see about the funeral. I wish it was his, I
do."

"What do you suspect?" said I.

"I'll tell you," she returned in a whisper. "I think he was made away
with. I think there was foul play. I think he was poisoned. That's what
I think."

"I hope you may be mistaken," said I. "Suppose you let me see the body."

"You shall see it," she replied; and following her, I went up-stairs to
a front chamber, where I found the corpse.

"Get it over soon," said the woman, with strange firmness. "If there
ain't no murder been done I shall have to run for it; if there was"--and
her face set hard--"I guess I'll stay." With this she closed the door
and left me with the dead.

If I had known what was before me I never could have gone into the thing
at all. It looked a little better when I had opened a window and let in
plenty of light; for although I was, on the whole, far less afraid of
dead than living men, I had an absurd feeling that I was doing this dead
man a distinct wrong--as if it mattered to the dead, after all! When the
affair was over, I thought more of the possible consequences than of its
relation to the dead man himself; but do as I would at the time, I was
in a ridiculous funk, and especially when going through the forms of a
post-mortem examination.

I am free to confess now that I was careful not to uncover the man's
face, and that when it was over I backed to the door and hastily escaped
from the room. On the stairs opposite to me Mrs. File was seated, with
her bonnet on and a bundle in her hand.

"Well," said she, rising as she spoke,