nalin' somebody, sure as
you're alive," he burst out, turning to the group of mouth-sagging,
eye-roving gentlemen who followed every graceful curve and twist of
those ivory arms. "What's the matter with you, Sim? Didn't I order you
to go in there an' grab that bloody assassin? What--"

"Not on your life! He's got a gun," exclaimed Sim Jackson. "S'pose I'm
goin' in there, an'--Oh, fer gosh sake!"

A man appeared in the door leading to the interior of the house.

"For the love o' Mike!" issued from the lips of the newcomer. "What in
thunder--what's all this?"

It was Harry Squires.

He gazed open-mouthed, first at the beautiful, convulsed lady, and then
at the huddled group of men.

"We are caught red-handed, Mr. Squires," said the beautiful lady. "Shall
we go to the electric chair hand in hand?"

A slow grin began to reach out from the corners of Harry's mouth as if
its intention was to connect with his ears.

"My God, Harry--you ain't mixed up in this murder?" bleated Anderson.

The old man's dismay was so genuine, his distress so pitiful, that the
heart of Harry Squires was touched. His face sobered at once. Stepping
forward, he held out his hand to the Marshal.

"Good old Anderson! It's all right. Buck up, old top! I'm sorry to say
that blood has been shed here tonight. Come with me; I'll show you the
corpse."

Mr. Crow was not to be caught napping. "Some of you fellers stay here
an' guard this woman. Don't let her get away."

* * * * *

A few minutes later he stood beside Harry Squires in the cellar below
the kitchen. There was a smell of gunpowder on the close, still air.
They looked down upon the black, inanimate form of the French poodle.

"There, Mr. Hawkshaw," said Harry, "there lies all that is mortal of the
finest little gentleman that ever wore a collar. Take off your hat,
Sim--and you too, Bill--all of you. You are standing in the presence of
death. Behold in me the assassin. I am the slayer of yon grisly corpse.
Shackle me, Mr. Marshal. Lead me to the gallows. I am the guilty party."

Marshal Crow took off his hat with the rest--but he did it the better to
mop his forehead.

"Do you mean to tell me there ain't been any man slew in this house?" he
inquired slowly.

"Up to the hour of going to press," said the city editor of the
_Banner_, "no human remains have been unearthed."

"Then, where in thunder is the feller who's been foolin' around Mrs.
Smith's f