The resident physician of Smith’s Pocket was a Dr. Duchesne, or as he was better known to the locality, “Dr. Doochesny.” Of a naturally refined nature and liberal education, he had steadily resisted the aggressions and temptations of Smith’s Pocket, and represented to the master a kind of connecting link between his present life and the past. So that an intimacy sprang up between the two men, involving prolonged interviews in the doctor’s little back shop, often to the exclusion of other suffering humanity and their physical ailments. It was in one of these interviews that the master mentioned the coincidence of the date of the memoranda on the back of M’liss’s letter and the day of Smith’s suicide. “If it were Smith’s own handwriting, as the child says it is,” said the master, “it shows a queer state of mind that could contemplate suicide and indite private memoranda within the same twenty-four hours.” Dr. Duchesne removed his cigar from his lips and looked attentively at his friend. “The only hypothesis,” continued the master, “is that Smith was either drunk or crazy, and the fatal act was in a measure unpremeditated.” “Every man who commits suicide,” returned the doctor gravely, “is in my opinion insane, or, what is nearly the same thing, becomes through suffering an irresponsible agent. In my professional experience I have seen most of the forms of mental and physical agony, and know what sacrifices men will make to preserve even an existence that to me seemed little better than death, so long as their intellect remained unclouded. When you come to reflect on the state of mind that chooses death as a preferable alternative, you generally find an exaltation and enthusiasm that differs very little from the ordinary diagnosis of delirium. Smith was not drunk,” added the doctor in his usual careless tone; “I saw his body.” The master remained buried in reflection. Presently the doctor removed his cigar. “Perhaps I might help you to explain the coincidence you speak of.” “How?” “Very easily. But this is a professional secret, you understand.” “Yes, I understand,” said the master hastily, with an ill-defined uneasiness creeping over him. “Do you know anything of the phenomena of death by gunshot wounds?” “No!” “Then you must take certain facts as granted. Smith, you remember, was killed _instantly!_ The nature of his wound and the manner of his death were such as would have caused an instantaneous and complete relaxation of _all_ the muscles. Rigidity and contraction would have supervened of course, but only after life was extinct and consciousness fled. Now Smith was found with his hand tightly grasping a pistol.” “Well?” “Well, my dear boy, he must have grasped it after he was dead, or have prevailed on some friend to stiffen his fingers round it.” “Do you mean that he was murdered?”