Corbin, whilst I am going over those letters again, to--er--step across
to my office--and--er--bring me the copy of 'Wood's Digest' that lies on
my table? It will save some time."

The stranger rose, as if the service was part of his self-imposed
trouble, and as equally hopeless with the rest, and taking his hat
departed to execute the commission. As soon as he had left the building
Colonel Starbottle opened the door and mysteriously beckoned the
bar-keeper within.

"Do you remember anything of the killing of a man named Frisbee over in
Fresno three years ago?"

The bar-keeper whistled meditatively. "Three years
ago--Frisbee?--Fresno?--no? Yes--but that was only one of his names. He
was Jack Walker over here. Yes--and by Jove! that feller that was here
with you killed him. Darn my skin, but I thought I recognized him."

"Yes, yes, I know all that," said the Colonel, impatiently. "But did
Frisbee have any PROPERTY? Did he have any means of his own?"

"Property?" echoed the bar-keeper with scornful incredulity. "Property?
Means? The only property and means he ever had was the free lunches or
drinks he took in at somebody else's expense. Why, the only chance he
ever had of earning a square meal was when that fellow that was with you
just now took him up and made him his partner. And the only way HE could
get rid of him was to kill him! And I didn't think he had it in him.
Rather a queer kind o' chap,--good deal of hayseed about him. Showed up
at the inquest so glum and orkerd that if the boys hadn't made up their
minds this yer Frisbee ORTER BEEN killed--it might have gone hard with