What was I to do? I sat down to think, trembling with fright. I must call the police and tell them all I knew about this unusual man. No, not all; I must not tell them about the letter, I thought. My uncle might not want the whole world to know. I ran out into the street and told the first officer I met how the old man had knocked at my door during the storm; how I had given him my bed out of pity, and how I had discovered in the morning that he was dead.
That day the body was taken to the morgue. The sum of 100 pounds were found in his pockets, a part of which gave him a decent burial. But while he had gone to his long rest, he had sown in my mind the seed of unrest. I went about my work clinging to the thread of a mystery half told. Where would it lead me?
Strange as that messenger had seemed, he was certainly a good man to carry secrets.
