And young Van Quintem sauntered cheerfully out of the room, in company with his four friends from Brown's. The coroner had been waiting at the foot of the stairs for them; and the party adjourned to the nearest drinking saloon, when the coroner, overjoyed at having got rid of a tedious and embarrassing case, stood treat for one round. But who killed the inventor? The papers and the police, after groping for weeks in search of the answer, turned it over to the solution of Time, with the comforting assurance that MURDER WILL OUT. BOOK TENTH. DONE ON BOTH SIDES. CHAPTER I. A FISHER OF MEN. Mr. Augustus Whedell was a gentleman who had been living handsomely for three years on his wits. There was nothing remarkable in Mr. Whedell's personal appearance, with the exception of his wig. It was his fond belief that this wig looked like natural hair; but everybody knew it was a wig across the street. He also wore a gold double eyeglass, which he handled as effectively as a senorita her fan. Most of his loans, credits, and extensions, had been obtained by the dexterous manipulation of that eyeglass. Mr. Whedell twirled the dangerous instrument, and opened and shut it with more than his usual grace, one evening toward the middle of April. He was about to broach a disagreeable subject to his daughter, who, blooming, and exquisitely dressed, sat by the fire and yawned. "My dear Clementina, you are now twenty years old, and ought to be married. Delays are dangerous. What do you think of Chiffield?" Mr. Whedell spoke bluntly, and to the point, because he was addressing his own daughter, and also because short speeches suited his natural languor. "He's a horrid dancer!" said that young lady. "Granted. But when he does dance, he jingles money in his pocket." "He's a perfect fright, pa. You won't deny that?" "I won't deny that he is a plain, substantial gentleman. He has immense feet, and he is a little bald. What of that?" "Oh! nothing," replied Clementina, in a tone that signified "Everything." Her father caught the irony of the remark, and said: "My dear child, I know the natural leaning of your sex to handsome men. You are like your mother there. But remember, they never have any money--as a general rule. I won't undertake to explain the curious fact. But fact it is, you will admit that." "Very likely. But I hate this old Chiffield." Mr. Whedell smiled, twirled his double eyeglass a few dozen times round his forefinger, and said: "My darling daughter, listen, and you will appreciate the advantages of this match." Clementina frowned, and bit her finger nails. "My child," continued the fond parent, "I have always concealed my troubles from you. They can no longer be kept a secret. This house is not mine. Most of this furniture is unpaid for. The last month's bills at the butcher's, baker's, and grocer's are still due. I have exhausted my credit, and don't know where to raise a dollar. That is my 'situation,' as the newspapers say."