“Don’t pull any gun on me,” retorted the lawyer quietly. “It ain’t necessary.” “You heard Doc Breed say the body wasn’t fitten to be viewed,” pursued the sheriff. “That’s all right, too. But the doc hasn’t got the final word. The law has.” A quick murmur of assent passed through the room. “And the law says,” continued Bain, “that the body shall be duly viewed. Otherwise, and the deceased being buried without view, an order of the court to exhume may be obtained.” “Look at Breed,” whispered Kent to Sedgwick. The medical officer’s lips were gray, as he leaned forward to pluck at the sheriff’s arm. There was a whispered colloquy between them. Then Breed spoke, with a pitiful effort at self-control: “Lawyer Bain’s point is correct; undoubtedly correct. But the body must be prepared. It ought to ‘a’ been looked to last night. But somehow I—we—Will six citizens kindly volunteer to fetch the coffin back to my house?” Ten times six offered their services. The box was carried out swiftly, followed by the variable hum of excited conjecture. Quickly the room emptied itself, except for a few stragglers. CHAPTER V—ONE USE FOR A MONOCLE Sedgwick, who had followed the impromptu cortège with his vision, was brought up sharply by the glare of a pair of eyes outside the nearest window. The eyes were fixed on his own. Their expression was distinctly malevolent. Without looking round, Sedgwick said in a low voice: “Kent!” No answer came. “Kent!” said the artist a little louder. “Huh?” responded a muffled and abstracted voice behind him. “See here for a moment.” There was neither sound nor movement from the scientist. “An Indian-looking chap outside the window is trying to hypnotize me, or something of the sort.” This information, deemed by its giver to be of no small interest, elicited not the faintest response. Somewhat piqued, the artist turned, to behold his friend stretched on a bench, with face to the ceiling, eyes closed, and heels on the raised end. His lips moved faintly. Alarmed lest the heat had been too much for him, Sedgwick bent over the upturned face. From the moving lips issued a musical breath which began its career softly as Raff’s _Cavatina_ and came to an inglorious end in the strains of _Honey Boy_. Sedgwick shook the whistler insistently. “Eh? What?” cried Kent, wrenching his shoulder free. “Go away! Can’t you see I’m busy?” “I’ll give you something to think about. Look at this face of a cigar-store Indian at the window. No! It’s gone!” “Gansett Jim, probably,” opined Kent. “Just where his interest in this case comes in, I haven’t yet found out. He favored me with his regard outside. And he had some dealings with the sheriff on the beach. But I don’t want to talk about him now, nor about anything else.” Acting on this hint, Sedgwick let his companion severely alone, until a bustle from without warned him that the crowd was returning. Being aroused, Kent accosted one of the villagers who had just entered.