patronized the Excelsior. She was a formidable influence in that little
community of sailormen.

"That's just how I found him," said Mrs. Pickett. She did not speak
loudly, but her voice made the policeman start.

He wiped his forehead again. "It might have been apoplexy," he
hazarded.

Mrs. Pickett said nothing. There was a sound of footsteps outside, and
a young man entered, carrying a black bag.

"Good morning, Mrs. Pickett. I was told that--Good Lord!" The young
doctor dropped to his knees beside the body and raised one of the arms.
After a moment he lowered it gently to the floor, and shook his head in
grim resignation.

"He's been dead for hours," he announced. "When did you find him?"

"Twenty minutes back," replied the old woman. "I guess he died last
night. He never would be called in the morning. Said he liked to sleep
on. Well, he's got his wish."

"What did he die of, sir?" asked the policeman.

"It's impossible to say without an examination," the doctor answered.
"It looks like a stroke, but I'm pretty sure it isn't. It might be a
coronary attack, but I happen to know his blood pressure was normal,
and his heart sound. He called in to see me only a week ago, and I
examined him thoroughly. But sometimes you can be deceived. The inquest