A week later the manuscript was polished and typewritten, ready for the test. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. “I’ll be here at one in the morning. " "Where did you get it?" inquired Thames.
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