ht. He was dead when I got in, Doc."

"Yes, they go quick that way."

"Are you sure it was heart disease, Dr. Warren?" asked the colonel.

"No, not at all. I just mentioned that as most probable. He didn't
look strong. I can't tell for a certainty until to-morrow."

"Pardon me, Dr. Warren, for presuming on what is particularly your own
ground, but did you look to see if any of the cigarettes were left in
his cell?"

"I didn't notice. If you want to take a look come on back. And I
don't in the least mind any suggestions from you, Colonel. I'm too
much interested in your work. In fact, I'd be glad to have you help in
this investigation if you think there's anything crooked."

"Oh, not at all. Suicide is, of course, the most natural suspicion in
a case like this, and it isn't hard to conceal enough opium in a
cigarette to kill a dozen men."

"Blazes! I never thought of that!" ejaculated the deputy. "Come on!"
and he led the way back to the cell.

Singa Phut's body had been removed to another part of the jail. But
the cell was as it had been when the final summons came to the East
Indian.

There were the few poor possessions he had been allowed to have with
him--simple and apparently safe enough. And, scattered on the floor,
were some of the cigarettes, made from strong Latakia tobacco, the
peculiar odor of which was, even yet, noticeable in the corners of the
cell.

"He smoked some of 'em all right," observed the deputy.

"Let's have a look," suggested the colonel. "If we had a better light
in here it might help."

"I'll bring one of the two-hundred watt bulbs we use down in the
office," said the warden, who had joined the little group. There was
an electric light socket in each cell--recently installed as the result
of the agitation of a prison reform committee. The low-powered bulb
was taken out and the glaring nitrogen gas one substituted. It made
the cell very bright, and by the glare the colonel gathered up a number
of the cigarettes. Some had been smoked down to a mere stub; others
had not been lighted, and two or three were broken in half, neither end
showing signs of either having been scorched by a match or wet by the
lips of Singa Phut.

"Queer he'd waste 'em that way," observed Donovan. "Usually they can't
get enough to smoke."

"He didn't exactly waste them," said the colonel grimly, as he looked
at the divided but otherwise perfect cigarettes in his hand.

"What do you ca