nce to a sheet of paper he was holding in his hand, "whatever
_role_ this humpback has played in the tragedy now occupying us, whether
he be a wizard, a secret accomplice, a fool who cannot keep his own
secret, or a traitor who cannot preserve that of his tools, this affair,
as you call it, is not likely to prove the simple matter you seem to
consider it. The victim, if not her townsfolk, knew she possessed an
enemy, and this half-finished letter which I have found on her table,
raises the question whether a common tramp, with no motive but that of
theft or brutal revenge, was the one to meditate the fatal blow, even if
he were the one to deal it."

A perceptible light flickered into the eyes of Mr. Byrd, and he glanced
with a new but unmistakable interest at the letter, though he failed to
put out his hand for it, even though the coroner held it toward him.

"Thank you," said he; "but if I do not take the case, it would be better
for me not to meddle any further with it."

"But you are going to take it," insisted the other, with temper, his
anxiety to secure this man's services increasing with the opposition he
so unaccountably received. "The officers at the detective bureau in New
York are not going to send another man up here when there is already one
on the spot. And a man from New York I am determined to have. A crime
like this shall not go unpunished in this town, whatever it may do in a
great city like yours. We don't have so many murder cases that we need
to stint ourselves in the luxury of professional assistance."

"But," protested the young man, still determined to hold back, whatever
arguments might be employed or inducements offered him, "how do you know
I am the man for your work? We have many sorts and kinds of detectives
in our bureau. Some for one kind of business, some for another; the
following up of a criminal is not mine."

"What, then, is yours?" asked the coroner, not yielding a jot of his
determination.

The detective was silent.

"Read the letter," persisted Dr. Tredwell, shrewdly conscious that if
once the young man's professional instinct was aroused, all the puerile
objections which influenced him would immediately vanish.

There was no resisting that air of command. Taking the letter in his
hand, the young man read:

"DEAR EMILY:--I don't know why I sit down to write
to you to-day. I have plenty to do, and morning is
no time for indulging in sentimenta