"I agree with you," said the colonel, and there was a curious look on
his face. "Though if you mean it's the _end_ I beg to differ. It's
only the _beginning_."

"How'd it happen?" asked Donovan sharply.

"We don't know," was the answer. "The Dago was all right to-day,
except he seemed a little glummer than usual. He didn't eat any supper
though but that's nothing. Lots of times the birds in here get off
their feed," and the deputy warden made a comprehensive gesture.

"He was locked up with the rest to-night and we got sort of quiet and
comfortable here and I was having a game of pinochle with Tom Doyle
when one of our boarders in murderers' row lets out a howl. Course I
went to see what it was, and there was the Dago--croaked!"

"What did it?" asked Donovan.

"We don't know. Doc Warren's in now giving him the once-over."

"Did he have any visitors to-day?" asked the colonel.

"Yes, a fellow like himself--Indian I reckon. But we didn't let him
further than the corridor. It wasn't visiting day for the fellows in
his row, so the Dago left a package and went away."

"What was in the package?" the colonel questioned further.

"Oh, just some cigarettes. Singa Phut didn't like the kind we keep,
and he had to have his own fancy kind. He's had 'em before, so we knew
they was all right."

"Was that all?"

"Every blessed thing that was in the package. So we let him have the
cigarettes. That was about four o'clock. He was dead at eight. Here
comes the doctor now. Maybe he can tell you something."

Doctor Warren, rubbing his hands to get rid of the lint from the
warden's towel, came along settling himself into his coat which he had
removed the better to examine the body of the East Indian.

"Well, Donovan," said the county physician, "your friend saved you the
trouble of convicting him."

"Yep. But I'd a had him all right. I'd a sent him to the chair
without any trouble. But what ailed him, Doc?"

"I can't say yet. Looks like a case of heart disease. I'll hold an
autopsy in the morning. He's dead all right."

"I thought maybe some of the other prisoners might have got in and
croaked him," commented the headquarters detective. "Riley was saying
some one let out a yell."

"That was Schmidt--fellow that killed his wife," interposed the deputy
warden. "He's in the cell next to where the Dago was. Schmidt said he
heard the foreigner breathing awful funny. It was his last breath all
rig