studio. He had paid his rent irregularly, but always had paid it. He had seemed a quiet, refined person, a good tenant, in fact. There had been a child or stepchild—the owner of the property was not sure of the relationship. Mrs. O'Shea had cleaned the studio for them. That was about all he could tell about the dead man.
Several days after the funeral—the very day Mrs. O'Shea had quit her place as janitress to accept the job of stewardess on the ship sailing for Calcutta—a young woman had come to the studio demanding her property. Mrs. O'Shea had identified her as the wife of the journalist, although she had not lived with him for several years. The rent having been paid in advance before the tenant had died there was no reason for holding the studio furnishings, and they had been carted off by the pretty young woman. There was little of value left in the apartment, as the long illness of the tenant had necessitated the disposal of much of the furnishings. The owner had noted that there were a good many old books, some pictures and trunks and shabby divans. Where the van had carried the things he could not say. He remembered there had been a slight altercation between Mrs. O'Shea and the young woman concerning a missing bon-
