"He was seen to stagger and fall, and by the time I arrived he'd snuffed out. Heart disease, I suppose." "Ah!" said Constable Wiseman, regarding the body with a proprietorial and professional eye, and retailed his own experiences of similar tragedies, not without pride, as though he had to some extent the responsibility for their occurrence. On the far side of the square a young man and a girl were walking slowly. A tall, fair, good-looking youth he was, who might have attracted attention even in a crowd. But more likely would that attention have been focused, had he been accompanied by the girl at his side, for she was by every standard beautiful. They reached the corner of Tabor Street, and it was the fixed and eager stare of a little man who stood on the corner of the street and the intensity of his gaze which first directed their attention to the tragedy on the opposite side of the square. The little man who watched was dressed in an ill-fitting frock coat, trousers which seemed too long, since they concertinaed over his boots, and a glossy silk hat set at the back of his head. "What a funny old thing!" said Frank Merrill under his breath, and the girl smiled. The object of their amusement turned sharply as they came abreast of him. His freckled, clean-shaven face looked strangely old, and the big, gold-rimmed spectacles bridged halfway down his nose added to his ludicrous appearance. He raised his eyebrows and surveyed the two young people. "There's an accident over there," he said briefly and without any preliminary. "Indeed," said the young man politely. "There have been several accidents in Gray Square," said the strange old man meditatively. "There was one in 1875, when the corner house--you can see the end of it from here--collapsed and buried fourteen people, seven of whom were killed, four of whom were injured for life, and three of whom escaped with minor injuries." He said this calmly and apparently without any sense that he was acting at all unconventionally in volunteering the information, and went on: "There was another accident in 1881, on the seventeenth of October, a collision between two hansom cabs which resulted in the death of a driver whose name was Samuel Green. He lived at 14 Portington Mews, and had a wife and nine children." The girl looked at the old man with a little apprehension, and Frank Merrill laughed. "You have a very good memory for this kind of thing. Do you live here?" he asked. "Oh, no!" The little man shook his head vigorously. He was silent for a moment, and then: "I think we had better go over and see what it is all about," he said with a certain gravity. His assumption of leadership was a little staggering, and Frank turned to the girl. "Do you mind?" he asked. She shook her head, and the three passed over the road to the little group just as the ambulance came jangling into the square. To Merrill's surprise, the policeman greeted the little man respectfully, touching his helmet.