the covering. Beneath it lay the body of the old man.

He was lying on his back, and had not been squeezed out of all human
semblance like so many of the others. Nevertheless, he was ghastly
enough, with his bluish face and wide bulging eyes. What had worn his
fingers to the bone so? He must have made a desperate struggle with his
bare hands to dig himself out. I will never forget those torn, nailless
fingers. I felt around his waist. Ha! the money belt was gone!

"Winklestein," I said, turning suddenly on the little Jew, "this man had
two thousand dollars on him. What have you done with it?"

He started violently. A look of fear came into his eyes. It died away,
and his face was convulsed with rage.

"He did not," he screamed; "he didn't have a red cent. He's no more than
an old pauper I was taking in to play the fiddle. He owes _me_, curse
him! And who are you anyways, you blasted meddler, that accuses a decent
man of being a body robber?"

"I was this dead man's friend. I'm still his granddaughter's friend. I'm
going to see justice done. This man had two thousand dollars in a gold
belt round his waist. It belongs to the girl now. You've got to give it
up, Winklestein, or by----"

"Prove it, prove it!" he spluttered. "You're a liar; she's a liar;
you're all a pack of liars, trying to blackmail a decent man. He had no
money, I say! He had no money, and if ever he said so, he's a liar."

"Oh, you vile wretch!" I cried. "It's you that's lying. I've a mind to
choke your dirty throat. But I'll hound you till I make you cough up
that money. Where's Berna?"

Suddenly he had become quietly malicious.

"Find her," he jibed; "find her for yourself. And take yourself out of
my sight as quickly as you please."

I saw he had me over a barrel, so, with a parting threat, I left him. A
tent nearby was being run as a restaurant, and there I had a cup of
coffee. Of the man who kept it, a fat, humorous cockney, I made
enquiries regarding the girl. Yes, he knew her. She was living in yonder
tent with Madam Winklestein.

"They sy she's tykin' on horful baht th' old man, pore kid!"

I thanked him, gulped down my coffee, and made for the tent. The flap
was down, but I rapped on the canvas, and presently the dark face of
Madam appeared. When she saw me, it grew darker.

"What d'you want?" she demanded.

"I want to see Berna," I said.

"Then you can't. Can't you hear her? Isn't that enough?"

Surely I could hear a very low,