tobacco jar on the table by the fireplace.

 

As I poked into the tobacco my fingers touched something hard, and I drew out

Scudder’s little black pocket-book....

 

That seemed to me a good omen. I lifted the cloth from the body and was amazed

at the peace and dignity of the dead face. “Goodbye, old chap,” I said; “I am

going to do my best for you. Wish me well, wherever you are.”

 

Then I hung about in the hall waiting for the milkman. That was the worst part

of the business, for I was fairly choking to get out of doors. Six-thirty

passed, then six-forty, but still he did not come.

 

The fool had chosen this day of all days to be late.

 

At one minute after the quarter to seven I heard the rattle of the cans outside.

I opened the front door, and there was my man, singling out my cans from a bunch

he carried and whistling through his teeth. He jumped a bit at the sight of me.

 

“Come in here a moment,” I said. “I want a word with you.” And I led him into

the dining-room.

 

“I reckon you’re a bit of a sportsman,” I said, “and I want you to do me a

service. Lend me your cap and overall for ten minutes, and here’s a sovereign

for you.”