Caricature; wit and humor of a nation in picture, song and story . s theresult of brooding over it, and over his dying charge tome, that I at last determined to engage my friend Keeneto ferret out the mystery. Mr. Keene was a gentleman,nominally a lawyer, who dwelt, quite retired from theworld, in the heart of Brooklyn. Only myself and a fewintimate friends knew that, in fact, the professionof law was his pastime, and that his real occupationwas the hunting down of famous criminals and thesolving of those important problems which had al-ready baffled the law-enforcing world. It was the very si
Caricature; wit and humor of a nation in picture, song and story . s theresult of brooding over it, and over his dying charge tome, that I at last determined to engage my friend Keeneto ferret out the mystery. Mr. Keene was a gentleman,nominally a lawyer, who dwelt, quite retired from theworld, in the heart of Brooklyn. Only myself and a fewintimate friends knew that, in fact, the professionof law was his pastime, and that his real occupationwas the hunting down of famous criminals and thesolving of those important problems which had al-ready baffled the law-enforcing world. It was the very simplicity of my case which sofar had kept me from him. Finally, however, de-spair drove me to an appeal, and hardly had mymessenger had time to return from the great mansretreat, before Keene himself followed in person, togain from me a few additional details. I offered toshow him the room in which the murder had beencommitted, but he refused with characteristic de-cision. No—tell me about it. Theres not much to a«imple thing like this. No use climbing Pera/ts^ff SWEET POTATOES. Its on this floor, I answered; but I can tellyou. It was on the evening of the seventeenth ofApril at about seven-forty oclock Never mind the hour. Well, I wont, then. It was on the evening ofthe seventeenth of April that I determined to comedownstairs I dont care what yon did! cried Keene, spring-ing out of his chair. Get to the murder! I looked at him in perplexity. I was afraid theselittle interruptions would make me inaccurate. Im sorry, I said, I cant tell the story anyother way. Ive told it so often. And I went onwith my recital. That I determined to come downstairs and getmy book from the library. I was reading Peter opened the door and saw my Uncle William lying onthe floor, with the remnant of a wallet clasped in hishand; his skull had been fractured by some blunt instru-ment. There was no one in the room, for I looked; butthere was a losv window opening on the street, throughw
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, booksubjectcaricaturesandcartoo
