"He's carrying something," added the old detective. "Ah—it's a coffin, ain't it?"
"A wooden box shaped like one. There's another man on —— the other end of it," said Harry, whose interest was aroused. "They're coming out."
The second man was a short, roughly-clad negro.
As they staggered under the weight of the box, the detectives inferred that it was heavy. The Bradys could now see a rope tied around it.
The two men carried it down to the wagon, the back doors of which stood open.
Just as they shoved the box into the vehicle, Old King Brady darted across the street, and tapped the tall, thin man on the arm.
He gave a start, a cry of alarm, and wheeled around, glaring at the officer.
"What have you got in that box?" demanded the detective, abruptly.
"My dear sir, really, that is none of your business," replied the other.
"You are mistaken," said Old King Brady, exhibiting his badge. "I am an officer. We heard cries of murder emanate from that building, and this is a singular hour for an undertaker to be removing a corpse."