His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop. ‘She won’t like it,’ prophesied the captain gloomily. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. Marvel," remarked Shotbolt. I went to her rooms to-night. I'll tell you something. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. She got up and unlocked the door.
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