'How far is it?' inquired Holker, as they strode
along, their feet stirring white the dust beneath the
damp surface of the road.
'The White Church? Only a half mile farther,'
the other answered. 'By the way,' he added, 'it
is neither white nor a church; it is an abandoned
schoolhouse, grey with age and neglect. Religious
services were once held in it--when it was white,
and there is a graveyard that would delight a poet.
Can you guess why I sent for you, and told you to
come armed?'
'Oh, I never have bothered you about things of
that kind. I've always found you communicative
when the time came. But if I may hazard a guess,
you want me to help you arrest one of the corpses
in the graveyard.'
'You remember Branscom?' said Jaralson, treat-
ing his companion's wit with the inattention that it
deserved.
'The chap who cut his wife's throat? I ought; I
wasted a week's work on him and had my expenses
for my trouble. There is a reward of five hundred
dollars, but none of us ever got a sight of him. You
don't mean to say--'
'Yes, I do. He has been under the noses of you
fellows all the time. He comes by night to the old
graveyard at the White Church.'
'The devil! That's where they buried his wife.'
'Well, you fellows might have had sense enough
to suspect that he would return to her grave some
time! '
'The very last place that anyone would have ex-
pected him to return to.
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