“Yes, I am aware of all that,” answered Carpentaria. “But I was very curious; and I didn’t want any police meddling here.” “You are going just the way to bring them here.” “Not at all. When you have made your examination I shall simply put the body where I found it. No one will be the wiser.” “And theft?” “Then--we shall see. It will depend on your examination.” “But, really, Mr. Carpentaria, I cannot lend myself-----” “Not to oblige me?” Carpentaria smiled an engaging smile, and they descended together to the outhouse. The outhouse was not more than eleven feet square, and the barrow with its burden was stretched across it diagonally, so that when the two men were inside, the place was full and the door would scarcely close. A small window gave light. Rivers gently pulled the black cloth aside. “This is just such black cloth as photographers use,” he remarked. “So it is,” said Carpentaria. The eyes of the corpse were closed; he might have been a man asleep, this strange relic from which a soul had flown and which would soon resolve itself into its original dust. “Poor fellow,” thought Carpentaria. “Once he lived, and had interests, and probably passions, and thought himself of some importance in the universe.” The spectacle saddened Carpentaria, whereas the young doctor was not at all saddened, he was merely intensely interested. “A blow on the head among other things,” he observed, indicating to Carpentaria the top of the skull which showed an abrasion together with an extravasation of blood, now clotted. “Would that do it?” queried Carpentaria. “Don’t know. Might. By Jove, the rigor is extraordinarily acute.” “Rigor?” 7.8 “The stiffness that follows death. Great Scott!” The doctor assumed an upright position, and stared, first at the corpse and then at Carpentaria. “Great Scott!” he repeated. “What’s up?” The doctor made no reply, but tried to lift the left arm of the body. He could not, without raising the entire body. “This is most interesting,” he said. “What is?” Again Rivers did not answer. Instead, he took his watch from his pocket, and put it suddenly against the ear of the corpse. The corpse twitched; its head moved slightly; the eyelid lifted the eighth of an inch. “See that? You’re lucky! And so’s he!” said the doctor. “It’s catalepsy! that’s all--A sudden slight noise at the ear itself will often produce a change of position in catalepsy.” “Then he’s not dead!” exclaimed Carpentaria. “Dead? He’s no more dead than you are! It’s just catalepsy, induced probably by that blow. But he must have been very excited previously, and, no doubt, suffering from melancholia too. My dear Mr. Carpentaria, there is only one absolutely reliable symptom of death, and that is--putrefaction. Death is imitated by various diseases. But there are not many that will imitate the coldness of death as catalepsy will. Feel that hand; it’s like ice.”