Genre - Short Story. You are on the page - 42

his is very painful--very painful and terrible," said Mr. Scott Eccles in a querulous voice, "but it is really uncommonly hard on me. I had nothing to do with my host going off upon a nocturnal excursion and meeting so sad an end. How do I come to be mixed up with the case?""Very simply, sir," Inspector Baynes answered. "The only document found in the pocket of the deceased was a letter from you saying that you would be with him on the night of his death. It was

in the sun. What harm can a naked frog do us? Let him run with the Pack. Where is the bull, Bagheera? Let him be accepted." And then came Akela's deep bay, crying: "Look well--look well, O Wolves!"Mowgli was still deeply interested in the pebbles, and he did not notice when the wolves came and looked at him one by one. At last they all went down the hill for the dead bull, and only Akela, Bagheera, Baloo, and Mowgli's own wolves were left. Shere Khan roared still in the night,

nstantly. A single grain of gimlet-dust, for example, would have been as obvious as an apple. Any disorder in the gluing, any unusual gaping in the joints, would have sufficed to insure detection.""I presume you looked to the mirrors, between the boards and the plates, and you probed the beds and the bedclothes, as well as the curtains and carpets." "That of course; and when we had absolutely completed every particle of the furniture in this way, then we examined the house

tions, thoughts, and emotions. But dreams, being familiar, are credible; it is admitted that people do dream; we reach the less credible as we advance to the less familiar. For, if we think for a moment, the alleged events of ghostdom--apparitions of all sorts--are precisely identical with the every-night phenomena of dreaming, except for the avowed element of sleep in dreams.In dreams, time and space are annihilated, and two severed lovers may be made happy. In dreams, amidst a grotesque

I certainly expected that you would do so. You did look up; and I was now assured that I had correctly followed your steps. But in that bitter tirade upon Chantilly, which appeared in yesterday's 'Musée,' the satirist, making some disgraceful allusions to the cobbler s change of name upon assuming the buskin, quoted a Latin line about which we have often conversed. I mean the linePerdidit antiquum litera sonum. I had told you that this was in reference to Orion, formerly written Urion; and,

actice in ourneighborhood.""I know you did, sir," I replied. "But what was a poor travelingportrait-painter like my husband, who lives by taking likenessesfirst in one place and then in another, to do? Our bread dependedon his using his eyes, at the very time when you warned him tolet them have a rest." "Have you no other resources? No money but the money Mr. Kerbycan get by portrait-painting?" asked the doctor. "None," I answered, with a sinking at