The drawing-room was elaborate, though not ostentatious, and
seemed well adapted as a social setting for Joseph Crawford and
his family. It should have been inhabited by men and women in
gala dress and with smiling society manners.

It was therefore a jarring note when I perceived its only
occupant to be a commonplace looking man, in an ill-cut and
ill-fitting business suit. He came forward to greet me, and his
manner was a trifle pompous as he announced, "My name is Monroe,
and I am the coroner. You, I think, are Mr. Burroughs, from New
York."

It was probably not intentional, and may have been my
imagination, but his tone seemed to me amusingly patronizing.

"Yes, I am Mr. Burroughs," I said, and I looked at Mr. Monroe
with what I hoped was an expression that would assure him that
our stations were at least equal.

I fear I impressed him but slightly, for he went on to tell me
that he knew of my reputation as a clever detective, and had
especially desired my attendance on this case. This sentiment
was well enough, but he still kept up his air and tone of
patronage, which however amused more than irritated me.

I knew the man by hearsay, though we had never met before; and I
knew that he was of a nature to be pleased with his own
prominence as coroner, especially in the case of so important a
man as Joseph Crawford.