inch up on the taper.

Aware that the weed might have been thrown down by anyone save Hardy,
Garrison nevertheless placed it in an envelope and tucked it away in
his pocket. A visit to the local coroner presenting itself as the next
most natural step, he proceeded at once to his office.

As a dealer in real estate, a notary public, and an official in several
directions, the coroner was a busy man. He said so himself.

Garrison introduced himself candidly as a New York detective, duly
licensed, at present representing a State insurance company, and stated
the nature of his business.

"All right," said the coroner, inclined at once to be friendly. "My
name is Pike. What'd you want to know? Sit down and take it easy."

"As much as I can learn about the case." Garrison took a proffered
chair. "For instance, what did you find on the body?"

"Nothing--of any importance--a bunch of keys, a fountain-pen, and--and
just some useless trash--I believe four dollars and nineteen cents."

"Anything else?"

"Oh, some scraps of paper and a picture postal-card."

"Any cigars?" asked Garrison.

"Yep--three, with labels on 'em--all but one, I mean." He had taken
one label for his son's collection.

"What did you do with the stuff?"

"Locked it up, waiting orders from the court," replied Mr. Pike. "You
bet, I know my business."

Garrison was pursuing a point. He inquired: "Do you smoke?"

"No, I don't; and if I did, I wouldn't touch one of them," said the
coroner. "And don't you forget it."

"Did anyone help you to carry off the body--anyone who might have
thrown a cigar away, unlighted?"

"No, siree! When Billy Ford and Tom Harris git a cigar it never gits
away," said Mr. Pike.

"Did you find out where the dead man came from and what he was doing in
the village?"

"He was stopping down to Hickwood with Mrs. Wilson," answered Pike.
"His friend there was Charlie Scott, who's making a flying-machine
that's enough to make anybody luny. I've told him he can't borrow no
money from me on no such contraption, and so has Billy Dodd."

Garrison mentally noted down the fact that Scott was in need of money.

"What can you tell me of the man's appearance?" he added, after a
moment of silence. "Did his face present any signs of agony?"

"Nope. Just looked dead," said the coroner.

"Were there any signs upon him of any nature?"

"Grass stain on his knee--that's about all."

"About all?" Garrison echoed. "Was