darkened parlor? This last supposition was possible, and I must be fully assured that neither remained in the house, before I sought to trail them without. I crept to the half-closed door, and endeavored to gain glimpse within. The room was black and silent, although I could perceive dimly the outlines of furniture. Nothing appeared strange, except that the chair nearest the door had been overturned. Surely every article of furniture stood straight and stiff enough, when I glanced that way before, on my first entrance. I recalled clearly how rigid that parlor looked, every piece of furniture placed as if by mathematical lines.
Something—some vague sense of mystery, of danger, gripped me. I felt a strange choking in the throat, and reached for the revolver at my belt. It was not there; the leather holder was empty. My first sensation was fear, a belief I was the victim of treachery. Then it occurred to my mind that the weapon might have fallen from the open holster as I rested on the bed—a mere accident. At least I would learn the truth of that dark room. I stepped within, circled the overturned chair, and a groping foot encountered something lying on the floor. I bent down, and touched it with my hand; it was the body of a man. The whole truth came to me in a flash—there had been a quarrel, a murder,
