e, that's all.
Given a peculiar kind of brains and any man can do it just as easily. My
great deficiencies in other respects have all tended to the enlargement
of this faculty. By some accident of nature my ancestors appear to have
inclined toward obtaining a higher development of this sense so
important to the protection of life in these days of crowded living. Of
course, they did it unconsciously; but Fate wisely predisposes, I
believe--"

"Well, what has this all got to do with Gabrielle?" interrupted Jim,
crossing first one leg and then the other, and tossing his hair into
cocks ready to be thrown on the rigging.

"Patience, Jim, old boy. You can't solve these great mysteries of life
which confront us at every crisis of our existence, by jumping off the
handle. I am ready to tell you, however, that I have hastily turned over
in my mind such data as you have given me, and I find that you have
blundered into a favorable position. It will not do for you to make any
moves without consulting me, however. If you can patiently bear up while
I handle the case for you for a few days--"

"You may handle the father all you please," interrupted Jim, "but not
Gabrielle. Everything is quiet at that end of the line."

"Of course," said I. "I would be no good there. Let me adjust the old
gentleman. You may be thankful that the trail leads to a wholesale
fish-market. I will be right at home there. I think I can surprise
you."

CHAPTER V.

Jim shuffled off to bed after receiving my assurances of support. I had
been extremely careful to keep from him the knowledge that I was in the
game at both ends. In five minutes he was asleep.

Now for a good think on love, murder, political economy and fish. No
sleep for me--just a good, long think, with breakfast at 6 A. M., with
the correct solution as snugly stored in my mind as ten cents in a dime.

First, I knew nothing about the Brownings and cared less. They didn't
figure in my plans at all. My purpose was to startle Pa Tescheron into a
full knowledge of his lunacy, and command his appreciation of his future
son-in-law.

As I was about to plunge deeper into my cogitations, I picked up a card
from the table and read it. It chilled me some, but only for a minute.
It ran like this:

PATRICK K. COLLINS,
UNDERTAKER AND EMBALMER,
9 West Tenth Street, New York.
_Cremations a Speci