and rushed up to London."

"But he had letters, Mr. Coulson," the reporter reminded him,
"from some one in Washington, to the captain of the steamer and
to the station-master of the London and North Western Railway. It
seems rather odd that he should have provided himself with these,
doesn't it?"

"They were easy enough to get," Mr. Coulson answered. "He wasn't
a worrying sort of chap, Fynes wasn't. He did his work, year in
and year out, and asked no favors. The consequence was that when
he asked a queer one he got it all right. It's easier to get a
pull over there than it is here, you know."

"This is all very interesting," the reporter said, "and I am sure
I'm very much obliged to you, Mr. Coulson. Now can you tell me of
anything in the man's life or way of living likely to provoke
enmity on the part of any one? This murder was such a
cold-blooded affair."

"There I'm stuck," Mr. Coulson admitted. "There's only one thing
I can tell you, and that is that I believe he had a lot more
money on him than the amount mentioned in your newspapers this
morning. My own opinion is that he was murdered for what he'd
got. A smart thief would say that a fellow who takes a special
tug off the steamer and a special train to town was a man worth
robbing. How the thing was done I don't know--that's for your
police to find out--but I reckon that whoever killed him did it
for his cash."