t are you talking about?"

This time the man came at once to the point.

"Mr. Burrill has been murdered, sir. They found him this morning in an
old cellar, close by Doctor Heath's; and they say, sir,--"

"_What!_ what do you say? Burrill--"

"Murdered, sir--killed dead--stabbed right through the heart, sir. They
are anxious for you to come. They are going to have an inquest right
there."

"Drive there, at once," cried Mr. Lamotte, hoarsely. "I must see for
myself," and he sinks back upon his seat, pale and trembling.

Meantime the carriage containing the portly gentleman arrives at the
hotel. The rain is still falling, and the gentleman steps hurriedly from
the carriage and across the pavement--so hurriedly, indeed, that he
jostles against a boy who is passing with a tray of ivory carvings and
pretty scroll-work.

Down comes the tray, and the gentleman, who is evidently kind-hearted,
cries out:

"Why, boy! Bless me, but I'm sorry! Didn't see you, upon my word. Pick
your wares up, sonny, and take stock of the broken things, then come in
and I'll make it all square. Just ask for Mr. Wedron, and don't be
bashful," and he bustles into the office of the W---- House, where he
calls for the best room they can give him, registers as "A. C. Wedron,
att'y, N. Y.," and, asking that he might have dinner as early as
possible, he goes at once to his room.

[Illustration: "Why, boy! Bless me."]

"I say," he calls to the porter who brings up his valise, "when that
young image boy comes, just send him along to me; I owe him some
damages."

A few minutes later, the boy enters the office and deposits his
disordered tray upon a chair.

"Come along, you," calls the porter, gruffly. "The gentleman's looking
for you."

"Wait a minit, can't ye?" retorts the boy coolly. "I jest want to take
account of stock."

He drops on one knee and rearranges his tray with great care and no
haste.

"There!" he exclaims, rising at length with a chuckle of satisfaction.
"I reckon that big bloke'll be about two fifty out after I call." And he
takes up his tray and says to the porter: "Now, then, give us the
address."

"Twenty-one," he replies, and the boy ascends the stairs, and
unceremoniously opens the door of twenty-one.

The gentleman, who stands at the window, turns quickly at the sound of
the opening door, and when it has closed behind the boy, he advances and
asks in a low tone:

"How lies the land, George? Is there any news?"