“Say! I bet you can’t guess what!” he called. Then as they met, “We have had the excitement up our end of the block! Fellow killed by the midnight express, and the night watchman found him just a little while ago, as he was coming home.”
“Who was he?” asked Bill.
“No one knows,” said Eddie. “I got there in time to see him. You couldn’t tell. He was scattered all around. Tore his coat all to pieces.”
“Let’s go to see the place,” suggested Bill hopefully.
They walked back, and studied the non-committal ground. Dee walked along the polished rail, and at a frog stooped and picked up a small book.
It was full of small, queer characters that Eddie declared must be Chinese or Turkish.
“Anyhow it belonged to the man,” said Eddie. “See the blood on the edge of the pages?”
“When have I seen writing like that?” mused Dee, turning the book over and over.
“Wish you could read it,” said Bill.
Dee’s face lighted. “I have it!” he exclaimed. “Anna, our cook, gets letters written like that.”