struck dumb with astonishment at seein' the Nigagerer which burst from
'im--but I'm not so full-blooded myself."

Fitzgerald again stifled a laugh, and wondered that Mrs. Sampson was
not afraid of being treated as were Ananias and Sapphira. However, he
said nothing, but merely intimated that if she would leave the room he
would take his breakfast.

"An' if you wants anythin' else, Mr. Fitzgerald," she said, going to
the door, "you knows your way to the bell as easily as I do to the
kitching," and, with a final chirrup, she crackled out of the room.

As soon as the door was closed, Brian put down his paper and roared, in
spite of his worries. He had that extraordinary vivacious Irish
temperament, which enables a man to put all trouble behind his back,
and thoroughly enjoy the present. His landlady, with her Arabian
Nightlike romances, was a source of great amusement to him, and he felt
considerably cheered by the odd turn her humour had taken this morning.
After a time, however, his laughter ceased, and his troubles came
crowding on him again. He drank his coffee, but pushed away the food
which was before him; and looked through the ARGUS, for the latest
report about the murder case. What he read made his cheek turn a shade
paler than before. He could feel his heart thumping wildly.

"They've found a clue, have they?" he muttered, rising and pacing
restlessly up and down. "I wonder what it can be? I threw that man off
the scent last night, but if he suspects me, there will be no
difficulty in his finding out where I live. Bah! What nonsense I am
talking. I am the victim of my own morbid imagination. There is nothing
to connect me with the crime, so I need not be afraid of my shadow.