club on the fateful evening. He had
afterwards driven him to his home.

"When you went into the house with the deceased," asked the district
attorney, "how long did you remain there with him?"

"That," said Throgton quietly, "I must refuse to answer."

"Would it incriminate you?" asked the coroner, leaning forward.

"It might," said Throgton.

"Then you're perfectly right not to answer it," said the coroner.
"Don't ask him that any more. Ask something else."

"Then did you," questioned the attorney, turning to Throgton again,
"play a game of billiards with the deceased?"

"Stop, stop," said the coroner, "that question I can't allow. It's too
direct, too brutal; there's something about that question, something
mean, dirty. Ask another."

"Very good," said the attorney. "Then tell me, Mr. Throgton, if you ever
saw this blue envelope before?" He held up in his hand a long blue
envelope.

"Never in my life," said Throgton.

"Of course he didn't," said the coroner. "Let's have a look at it. What
is it?"

"This envelope, your Honour, was found sticking out of the waistcoat
pocket of the deceased."

"You don't say," said the coroner. "And what's in it?"

Amid breathless silence, the attorney drew forth a sheet of blue paper,
bearing a stamp, and read:

"This is the last will and testament of me, Kivas Kelly of New York. I
leave everything of which I die possessed to my nephew, Peter Kelly."

The entire room gasped. No one spoke. The coroner looked all around.
"Has anybody here seen Kelly?" he asked.

There was no answer.

The coroner repeated the question.

No one moved.

"Mr. Coroner," said the attorney, "it is my opinion that if Peter Kelly
is found the mystery is fathomed."

Ten minutes later the jury returned a verdict of murder against a person
or persons unknown, adding that they would bet a dollar that Kelly did
it.

The coroner ordered the butler to be released, and directed the issue of
a warrant for the arrest of Peter Kelly.

CHAPTER VI

SHOW ME THE MAN WHO WORE THOSE BOOTS

The remains of the unhappy club man were buried on the following day as
reverently as those of a club man can be. None followed him to the grave
except a few morbid curiosity-seekers, who rode on top of the hearse.

The great city turned again to its usual avocations. The unfathomable
mystery was dismissed from the public mind.

Meantime Transome Kent was on the trail. Sleepless, almost foodless, and
a