Jewel Weed

"I wonder if the next will be," queried Ellery thoughtfully.

"And the majority of every working committee appointed by the city

council is made of 'friends' of Piggy, who shows a fine disregard of

party lines in his affiliations. William is one more product of this

horseless wireless age--a crownless king."

"What makes you think that he isn't the power he seems?"

"A lot of things. The business interests behind him do not seem to be

wholly his. That is another field for investigation."

"You started yesterday to tell me about a big policeman."

"Yes, Olaf Ericson, with the eyes and mustache of a viking above a blue

uniform. When I met him last he had just had the melancholy duty of

cutting down a poor wretch that had hung himself, and of sending for the

coroner. He told me that the pathetic part of it was that the dead man

was a total stranger in the city; and then he winked and asked if I knew

that though the city paid the coroner his salary, the state guaranteed

an extra fee of 'saxty dollar' to that official for every stranger who

met with sudden death within our limits? I didn't know, but I do now. I

took pains to look up last year's records and, curiously enough, out of

one hundred and seventy-six cases that required the services of a

coroner, one hundred and fifty-one were those of strangers. That would

add about nine thousand dollars to a quite moderate salary. Another

queer thing is that Doctor Niger--the coroner, you know--is Billy

Barry's brother-in-law."

"Great Scott!" said Ellery.

"Great Barry, say I. Now it may be my historic sense, or it may be mere

curiosity, but I mean to hunt up the personal history of those

hundred-odd strangers who died forlorn and lonely within our gates."

"Work quietly, Dick, and get your facts well in hand."

"I intend to. But when I have it all, don't you suppose your chief,

Lewis, will be willing to publish the record?"

"I hope so."

"I dare say the day will come when Barry and I shall cease to be

friends," said Dick cheerfully. "One must submit to the inevitable. But

let's keep the papers dribbling out information to the public. By the

time the coroner story is finished, I expect to have another ready."

"Tell me."

"Not yet. What used old Eddy to preach to us in rhetoric? 'Before you

attempt composition, be sure that you have a rounded thought.' This

isn't round, it's elliptical. Big Olaf is a friend useful. He's a shrewd

fellow, who's been looking stupid for some time. The 'bunch' hasn't been

treating him square. You can guess what that means. Anyway, he is sore

as well as shrewd, and now I fancy he belongs to me."