"What a crowded, narrow little place," commented Pendleton, as the car
turned into the street. The air in the street seemed to him heavy.

About midway in the block a small group stood about a doorway; from a
window above swung a sign bearing the name of Hume. The car stopped
here; Ashton-Kirk and his friend got out; the group at the doorway
parted and a big man stepped forward.

"Why, hello," said he, cordially. "You're the last person I was looking
for. How did you hear about this?"

"Good morning, Osborne," said Ashton-Kirk, shaking the big man's hand.
"I'm glad to find you in charge. I got it in an unusual sort of way,
and came down to have a look."

Osborne, though in plain clothes, was emphatically a policeman. His
square face, his big frame, his dogged expression, somehow conveyed
the impression as plainly as words.

"It must have been unusual," said he, "because even the reporters
haven't got it yet; headquarters is keeping it quiet until the chief
gets in."

Ashton-Kirk looked vastly pleased.

"Excellent," said he to Pendleton. "We'll have a look at the place
before it has lost the atmosphere of the crime." Then to Osborne: "May
we go up?"