I tried my keys, but none of them fitted the lock. I gave up the attempt--indeed, my mind shrank from the idea of going through my employer's papers--but the desire of getting a key that would open the door was planted in my brain. Twelve o'clock came. No Doddridge Knapp had appeared, and I sauntered down to the Exchange to pick up any items of news. It behooved me to be looking out for Doddridge Knapp's movements. If he had got another agent to carry out his schemes, I should have to prepare my lines for attack from another direction. Wallbridge was just coming rapidly out of the Exchange. “No,” said the little man, mopping the perspiration from his shining head, “quiet as lambs to-day. Their own mothers wouldn't have known the Board from a Sunday-school.” I inquired about Omega. “Flat as a pancake,” said the little man. “Nothing doing.” “What! Is it down?” I exclaimed with some astonishment. “Lord bless you, no!” said Wallbridge, surprised in his turn. “Strong and steady at eighty, but we didn't sell a hundred shares to-day. Well, I'm in a rush. Good-by, if you don't want to buy or sell.” And he hurried off without waiting for a reply. So I was now assured that Doddridge Knapp had not displaced me in the Omega deal. It was a recess to prepare another surprise for the Street, and I had time to attend to a neglected duty. The undertaker's shop that held the morgue looked hardly less gloomy in the afternoon sun than in the light of breaking day in which I had left it when I parted from Detective Coogan. The office was decorated mournfully to accord with the grief of friends who ordered the coffins, or the feelings of the surviving relatives on settling the bills. “I am Henry Wilton,” I explained to the man in charge. “There was a body left here by Detective Coogan to my order, I believe.” “Oh, yes,” he said: “What do you want done with it?” I explained that I wished to arrange to have it deposited in a vault for a time, as I might carry it East. “That's easy done,” he said; and he explained the details. “Would you like to see the body?” he concluded. “We embalmed it on the strength of Coogan's order.” I shrank from another look at the battered form. The awfulness of the tragedy came upon me with hardly less force than in the moment when I had first faced the mangled and bleeding body on the slab in the dead-room. Again I saw the scene in the alley; again his last cry for help rang in my ears; again I retraced the dreadful experiences of the night, and stood in the dim horror of the morgue with the questioning voice of the detective echoing beside me; and again did that wolf-face rise out of the lantern-flash over the body of the man whose death it had caused. The undertaker was talking, but I knew not what he said. I was shaking with the horror and grief of the situation, and in that moment I renewed my vow to have blood for blood and life for life, if law and justice were to be had.