ast two when he went out of the
office, unconsciously puffing away from him as he reached the threshold
the last breath of the atmosphere in which he had spent his midnight.
In Fleet Street the air was fresh, almost to sweetness, and the first
grey of the coming dawn was breaking faintly around the high silence of
St. Paul's.

Spargo lived in Bloomsbury, on the west side of Russell Square. Every
night and every morning he walked to and from the _Watchman_ office by
the same route--Southampton Row, Kingsway, the Strand, Fleet Street.
He came to know several faces, especially amongst the police; he formed
the habit of exchanging greetings with various officers whom he
encountered at regular points as he went slowly homewards, smoking his
pipe. And on this morning, as he drew near to Middle Temple Lane, he
saw a policeman whom he knew, one Driscoll, standing at the entrance,
looking about him. Further away another policeman appeared, sauntering.
Driscoll raised an arm and signalled; then, turning, he saw Spargo. He
moved a step or two towards him. Spargo saw news in his face.

"What is it?" asked Spargo.

Driscoll jerked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the partly open door
of the lane. Within, Spargo saw a man hastily donning a waistcoat and
jacket.

"He says," answered Driscoll, "him, there--the porter--that there's a
man lying in one of them entries down the lane, and he thinks he's
dead. Likewise, he thinks he's murdered."

Spargo echoed the word.

"But what makes him think that?" he asked, peeping with curiosity
beyond Driscoll's burly form. "Why?"

"He says there's blood about him," answered Driscoll. He turned and
glanced at the oncoming constable, and then turned again to Spargo.
"You're a newspaper man, sir?" he suggested.

"I am," replied Spargo.

"You'd better walk down with us," said Driscoll, with a grin. "There'll
be something to write pieces in the paper about. At least, there may
be." Spargo made no answer. He continued to look down the lane,
wondering what secret it held, until the other policeman came up. At
the same moment the porter, now fully clothed, came out.

"Come on!" he said shortly. "I'll show you."

Driscoll murmured a word or two to the newly-arrived constable, and
then turned to the porter.

"How came you to find him, then?" he asked

The porter jerked his head at the door which they were leaving.

"I heard that door slam," he replied, irritably, as if the fact which
he m