He did not answer, but merely said, “Know Simon Stagers?”
“Can’t say I do,” said I, cautiously. Simon was a burglar who had blown off two fingers when mining a safe. I had attended him while he was hiding.
“Can’t say you do. Well, you can lie, and no mistake. Come, now, doc. Simon says you’re safe, and I want to have a leetle plain talk with you.”
With this he laid ten gold eagles on the table. I put out my hand instinctively.
“Let ‘em alone,” cried the man, sharply. “They’re easy earned, and ten more like ‘em.”
“For doing what?” I said.
The man paused a moment, and looked around him; next he stared at me, and loosened his cravat with a hasty pull. “You’re the coroner,” said he.
“I! What do you mean?”
“Yes, you’re the coroner; don’t you understand?” and so saying, he shoved the gold pieces toward me.
“Very good,” said I; “we will suppose I’m the coroner. What next?”