"Open up," he said gently, as he
squinted. "Open up and come out!”
"Lord o’ me!" Mrs. Harraday
gasped. She put her two fat, grimy
hands before her eyes and turned
away; but the place remained deadly
still. She heard the old man’s halt
ing step on the bare floor before
she dared to look again. She saw
him go into his own room and re
turn with a straight-back^ wooden
chair.
"Come out,"'he called, "or I'll be
climbing in to get you.”
"Oh don’t!" begged the woman cn
the stair. "Come away! He’ll kill
you where you’re,, standln’, Mr.
Dicks!"
The old man waited, gazing up
ward with a pathetic air of help
lessness at the transom that now
sent out above his head, in widen
ing wavelets, a grayish smoke that
mingled its smell of powder with
the other odors of the hall.
He took off his shiny blue serge
coat, folded it with care, placed it
on the floor, and laid his old soft
felt hat on top. Then he set the
chair against the door, got on it and
stretched himself atiptoe so he could
look into the room. His bald head
missed the open transom sash by a
good six inches or more.
"Come out." he said again.
There was no answer from within.
Mrs. Harraday saw him get a foot
on the knob and begin to rise slowly,
his face once more twisted with pain.
Then she ascended boldly to the
landing.
"It's murder an’ suicide both!" she
explained breathlessly to one of the
lodgers who now reappeared. "Him
inside must o' shot 'Imself that last
time; an’ the bullet must o' gone
clean through! Lock how it splin
tered the door!"
At last the old man had a leg up.
