and the carefully-tended estates of a town of suburban homes.
The citizens were doubtless mainly men whose business was in New
York, but who preferred not to live there.

The superintendent must have apprised the coroner by telephone of
my immediate arrival, for a village cart from the Crawford
establishment was awaiting me, and a smart groom approached and
asked if I were Mr. Herbert Burroughs.

A little disappointed at having no more desirable companion on my
way to the house, I climbed up beside the driver, and the groom
solemnly took his place behind. Not curiosity, but a justifiable
desire to learn the main facts of the case as soon as possible,
led me to question the man beside me.

I glanced at him first and saw only the usual blank countenance
of the well-trained coachman.

His face was intelligent, and his eyes alert, but his impassive
expression showed his habit of controlling any indication of
interest in people or things.

I felt there would be difficulty in ingratiating myself at all,
but I felt sure that subterfuge would not help me, so I spoke
directly.

"You are the coachman of the late Mr. Crawford?"

"Yes, sir."