To Marcus he said, apologetically:
"Two Jersey constables I got to assist me. They don't do things exactly in the style of Detective Leffingwell."
Marcus recognized the name; and so terrified was he at the thoughts which it conjured up, that his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. The scene was like a horrid dream.
"Everything is regular, sir," continued the detective. "We have a requisition for you from the Governor of this State. It was obtained by telegraph from Trenton. You will excuse my dropping on you in this way; but I wanted to take you to New York to-night, as the inquest meets again at ten o'clock to-morrow morning."
"The inquest!--what inquest? Tell me, in God's name!" said Marcus, finding his voice at last.
"Inquest! There must have been a murder committed." "What is it?" "Tell us, Mr. Policeman." The question was asked on all sides.
"Now I didn't want a scene," said Detective Leffingwell, politely, "and I won't have one. Mr. Wilkeson and I understand each other. The word 'inquest' dropped out of my mouth before I thought."
"As heaven is above us, we do not understand each other!" said Marcus. "Tell me, pray tell me at once, or I shall go mad."
"Anything to please you," replied the officer; "but I can't bear these explanations in public. It isn't my way of doing business." He then leaned forward, and whispered in the ear of Marcus.
"Great God!" was all that Marcus could say. Then he sank to the seat, and bowed his head in agony.