He was soon sound asleep, but I lay awake long after I turned out the light. He was obviously quite ill, and I determined to go for a physician as soon as it got light. Once we were through there, I would go with him to my uncle. There were no ties here to prevent me from leaving, and it was clearly my duty to go with him. Perhaps my uncle was in some great danger. If so, I might be of service to him.
When I arose in the morning, my strange lodger seemed to be sleeping quietly. His face looked pale and ghastly in the light of day. I stepped close to his bed and, laying my hand upon his forehead, I was horrified to discover that he was dead. 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.
