s doorway, and much bustle and
excitement. But Clifford Heath might have been deaf and blind, so little
interest did he manifest in the sights and sounds that were attendant
upon the scene of John Burrill's low, rain-soaked bed of death.

Crouched at his feet lay the great dog Prince, who had been comforted by
his master for any harshness that he had suffered necessarily, and he
now lay watchful but quiet, seeming to share, in a measure, the mood of
his master and best friend.

At one o'clock Mrs. Gray came in and spread his luncheon beside him in
tempting array, and the doctor laid aside his pipe, and, favoring Mrs.
Gray with one of those kindly smiles that she always melted under to the
extent of admitting to herself that her master _was_ "a man who _meant
well_, in spite of his horrid ways."

Then he drew his chair up beside the lunch table, and immediately set
Mrs. Gray's good humor awry by indulging in one of his "horrid ways,"
namely, the tossing of dainty bits to Prince, who caught them in his
mouth with much adroitness and without quitting his position upon the
Turkish rug.

Finally, when Prince had received his share of Mrs. Gray's dainties, the
doctor fell upon the rest and made a hearty meal.

As he was washing down a tart with a large tumbler of claret, there came
a knock upon the street door, and without a moment's hesitation--indeed,
with some alacrity--he arose to answer it in person.

Once more it was his neighbor, O'Meara.

"Come in O'Meara," said he, coolly. "I'm just finishing luncheon," and
he led the way back to the parlor.

"I just looked in for a moment in my capacity of friend and neighbor,
Heath," said the little lawyer, briskly, at the same time seating
himself near the table. "Later on I may give you a call in my
professional capacity, but not now, not now, sir."

"Don't do it at all, O'Meara," said the doctor, with a short laugh; "I
have no earthly use for a lawyer."

"No more have I for a medical adviser just this minute, sir; but I may
need one before night."

"And before night I may need a lawyer, O'Meara--is that it?"

The little man shook his head.

"I'm afraid of it, Heath; I'm afraid of it, as things look now."

"And things look now very much as they did this morning, I suppose?"

O'Meara nodded.

"Then, this is the prospect ahead--a coroner's verdict thus: 'Deceased
came to his death at the hands of Clifford Heath, M. D.;' and
circumstantial evidence thus: 'Decease