lar a day, and I'll work on it hard and faithful."

"A dollar and a quatter a day," insisted old Gabe.

"No, sir, a dollar is all I can afford to pay," said Philo.

"All right, I won't be mean," said old Gabe. "Make it a dollar an'
fifteen cents and we'll call it a go."

"One dollar a day," said Philo.

"A dollar, ten cents," urged old Gabe.

"One dollar," said Philo.

"Tell you what let's do," said old Gabe. "We ain't but ten cents
apart. You add on a nickel and I'll knock off a nickel, and we'll make
it a dollar five. What say? That's fair enough. You ain't come up any.
I come all the way down."

"All right, then," said Philo. "It's a go. Now, who was murdered, and
when was he murdered, and why was he murdered? Them's the things I've
got to know first."

"You pay me a dollar five for the first day's work, and I'll tell
you," said old Gabe.

Philo dug into his pocket and drew out some money. "There," he said.
"There's two dollars and ten cents. That pays for two days. Now, go
ahead."

He drew out his notebook and wet the end of a pencil and waited.

"The reason this is such a hard case," said old Gabe slowly, and
choosing his words with care, "is because the murder ain't completed
yet. It's being did."

"Right now?" exclaimed Philo excitedly. "Why, we oughtn't to be
sitting here like this. We ought--"

"Now, don't be in such a hurry," said old Gabe. "If you mean we ought
to be where the victim of the murder is, we are. He's right here now.
I'm him. I'm the one that's being murdered. I'm being murdered by slow
murder. I'm liable to drop down dead any minute. But I don't want to
be murdered and not have the feller that murders me hang like he
ought. I can't be expected to. It ain't human nature."

"No, it ain't," agreed Philo. "A man can't help feeling revengeful
against the man that murders him. If anybody murdered me I'd feel the
same way. How's he killing you? Slow poison?"

"Gun-shot," said old Gabe. "Shootin' me to death with a gun."

The correspondence school detective looked at old Gabe with amazement.

"Shootin' you to death with a gun!" he exclaimed. "Ain't you told the
police?"

"I come to you, didn't I?" asked old Gabe. "If I was to set the police
on the feller he might rouse up and shoot me to death all at once."

"How is he shootin' you to death?" asked Philo.

"By inches, b'gee," said old Gabe. "Yes, sir, by inches. Every once in
a while he takes a shot at me. Sometimes through th