'What's that you say?'

'It doesn't matter,' said the voice sadly. 'I say,' it continued, 'will your
people look out a hotel near the scene of action, and telegraph for a room?'

'At once,' said Sir James. 'Come here as soon as you can.'

He replaced the receiver. As he turned to his papers again a shrill outcry
burst forth in the street below. He walked to the open window. A band of
excited boys was rushing down the steps of the Sun building and up the narrow
thoroughfare toward Fleet Street. Each carried a bundle of newspapers and a
large broadsheet with the simple legend:

MURDER OF SIGSBEE MANDERSON

Sir James smiled and rattled the money in his pockets cheerfully. 'It makes a
good bill,' he observed to Mr. Silver, who stood at his elbow.

Such was Manderson's epitaph.

CHAPTER III: Breakfast

At about eight o'clock in the morning of the following day Mr. Nathaniel
Burton Cupples stood on the veranda of the hotel at Marlstone. He was thinking
about breakfast. In his case the colloquialism must be taken literally: he
really was thinking about breakfast, as he thought about every conscious act
of his life when time allowed deliberation. He reflected that on the preceding
day the excitement and activity following upon the discovery of the dead man
had disorganized his appetite, and led to his taking considerably less