"What is the meaning of all this?" called a strong voice from the dining-room, and the flabbergasted Tinkletownians turned to face Colonel Randall himself, the owner of the house. "Derned if I know!" muttered Anderson Crow; and he spoke the truth. "Why, it's Anderson Crow!" cried a gay young voice. "Jumpin' Jehosophat!" ejaculated the detective; "it's the body!" "The school-teacher!" exclaimed the surprised Tinkletownians, as with their eyes they proceeded to search the figure before them for blood stains. But no sooner had the chorused words escaped their lips than they realised how wretchedly commonplace was their blundering expression in comparison with the faultlessly professional phraseology of their leader; and, overwhelmed with mortification, the posse ached to recall them; for that the correct technical term had been applied by one for years trained to the vernacular of his calling was little consolation to these sensitive souls, now consumed with envy. In the meantime, the quarry, if we may be permitted so to designate her, stood before them as pretty as a picture. At her side was Tom Reddon, and a dozen guests of the house fell in behind them. "Did Rosalie tell you?" demanded Miss Banks. "The mean thing! She said she wouldn't." "Ro--Rosalie!" gasped Anderson; "tell me what?" nervously. "That I was--was coming over here with Tom. Didn't she tell you?" "I should say not. If she'd told me you don't suppose I'd'a' driv' clear over here in this kinder weather fer nothin', do you? Thunder! Did she know 'bout it?" "Certainly, Mr. Crow. She helped with the plans." "Well, good gosh a'mighty! An' we was a-keepin' from her the awful news fer fear 'twould give her a backset." "Awful news! What do you mean? Oh, you frighten me terribly!" "Doggone! I don't believe Rosalie was sick at all," continued Anderson, quite regardless of the impatience of his listeners; "she jest wanted to keep from answerin' questions. She jest regularly let everybody believe you had been slaughtered, an' never opened her mouth." "Slaughtered!" cried half a dozen people. "Sure! Hain't you heard 'bout the murder?" "Murder?" apprehensively from the excited New Yorkers. "Yes--the teacher of schoolhouse No. 5 was brutally butchered las--las--night--by--" [Illustration: "What is the meaning of all this?"] "Go slow, Anderson! Better hold your horses!" cautioned Harry Squires. "Don't forget the body's alive and kic--" and stopping short, in the hope that his break might escape the school-teacher's attention, he confusedly substituted, "and here."