As he did so he felt his fingers come into contact with some wet, sticky substance. Holding his hand against the dim oil lamp, he examined it closely.

“Blood, by God!” he gasped.

Glancing quickly down at the feet of the inanimate man, he noticed for the first time a small, dark pool, beside which lay a white handkerchief.

In a moment the terrible truth dawned upon him.

Vaguely apprehensive of foul play, he pulled aside the overcoat, and placed his hand upon the heart of the prostrate man.

There was no movement.

“Hullo, Teddy, what’s up? Any one would think you were robbing the chap,” shouted a voice jocosely at the door.

The driver started, and, looking up, saw his conductor who, having taken a shorter route than the omnibus by walking along Pall Mall, across the north side of Trafalgar Square, and entering Duncannon Street from the opposite end, had just arrived.

“Bill,” replied the driver in an awe-stricken tone, his face wearing a scared look, “there’s something wrong here. I believe the gent’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yes. Come here.”

The conductor grew pale, and got into the conveyance beside his companion.

“Look! that’s blood,” the latter said, pointing to the floor.

“You’re joking,” the other replied incredulously, bending down to examine it.

“’Pon my honour I’m not. There’s some on my hand here. Besides, his heart doesn’t beat.”

Leaning hastily forward, the conductor pressed his hand to the passenger’s breast. He quickly withdrew it, admitting that such indeed was the case.

“But what can be wrong with him, Ted? He looks like a gentleman,” he added in amazement.

“I can’t tell. In this ’ere light it’s impossible to see.”

Striking a vesta, the conductor held it close to the man’s coat. As it shed its light in fitful gleams, their eager eyes at 

 Prev. P 7/236 next