under the kennels. Off with you, man, and don't stand gaping like a
stuck pig!"

Thus adjured, Constable Hosken ran, leaving us three to watch the
body.

"The man's pockets have been rifled, that's plain enough," Mr. Rogers
muttered, as he bent over it again, and with that I suppose I must
have made some kind of exclamation, for he looked up at me, still
with a horrified frown.

"Hallo! You know him?"

I nodded.

"His name's Coffin. He came here from Falmouth."

For a moment Mr. Rogers did not appear to catch the words. His eyes
travelled from my face to Mr. Goodfellow's.

"You, too?"

"Knew him intimate. Know him? Why, I live but two doors away from
him in the same court."

"Look here," said Mr. Rogers, slowly, after a pause, "this is a black
business, and a curst mysterious one, and I wasn't born with the gift
of seeing daylight through a brick wall. But speaking as a
magistrate, Mr. What's-your-name, I ought to warn you against saying
what may be used for evidence. As for you, lad, you'd best tell as