“Ever shall I give thanks for that inestimable privilege, the privilege of having given cheer to one on the brink of a dreadful doom. She vanished, that fair creature, into the forest. I looked at my watch—the unerring, warranted, sixteen-jeweled chronometer which I shall presently have the honor of showing to you at the unexampled price of three-seventy—and saw that the hour was exactly—for these timepieces vary not one fraction of a second in a day—eight-forty-five. When next I looked at the face of Father Time’s trustiest accountant, it was to mark the hour of the horrid shriek that shook my soul; precisely nine-thirty-one. And later, when I heard the dread news, I realized that my ears had thrilled to a death cry.” He looked about him with a face of controlled emotion. His voice dropped to a throaty and mesmeric gurgle. “How frail,” he continued: “How frail and uncertain is the life of mankind! Who of these happy faces before me may not to-morrow be bathed in tears for the loss of some loved one? Best be prepared against the time of sorrow. I show you here a unique collection of framed mottoes, suitable alike for the walls of the humblest home or the grandest palace. Within these tasty frames are enshrined comforting mortuary verses, delicately ornamented by the hands of our leading artists, such poetry as distils assuagement upon the wounded heart; and these priceless objects of art and agents of mercy I am distributing at the nominal charge of one dollar each.” Kent moved away, his chin pressed down upon his chest. He went to the office of Lawyer Adam Bain, and spent an hour waiting, with his feet propped up on the desk. When the lawyer entered Kent remarked: “You rather put our two official friends in a hole this morning.” “Just a mite, maybe. But they’ve crawled out. I guess I spoke too quick.” “How so?” “Well, if they’d gone ahead and buried the body as it was, we could have had it exhumed. And then we’d have seen what we’d have seen.” “True enough. And you didn’t see it as it was?” “See what? Did you?” Kent’s quiet smile sidled down from the corner of his mouth. “Suppose,” he said, “you give me the fullest possible character sketch of our impulsive friend, the sheriff.” Half an hour was consumed in this process. At the end of the time Kent strolled back to the Square where Simon P. Groot had been discoursing. There he found the ornate wagon closed, and its ornate proprietor whistling over some minor repairs that he had been making. An invitation to take a ride in Kent’s car was promptly accepted. “Business first,” said Kent. “You’re a seller. I’m a buyer. You’ve got some information that I may want. If so, I’m ready to pay. Was any of your talk true?” “Yep,” replied Simon P. Groot austerely. “It was all true but the frills.” “Will you trim off the frills for ten dollars?” “Fair dealing for a fair price is my motto; you’ll find it in gilt lettering on the back of the wagon. I will.”