Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from Overland Monthly, Vol. 45: January, 1905
With the clanging of the tower clock in the Hall of Justice at nine, there was a patter of horse hoofs on the cobblestones below, and I stepped down through the alley way to the Morgue entrance. The usual crowd of morbid curiosity mongers had assembled and stood gaping at the black wagon of death as the deputies, Charles Mehan and Brown lifted the willow casket. The doors were closed and a few scribes, detectives and one or two police men stood about the casket. The lid was raised, and we beheld a man whose right arm was folded over in such a manner as to hide his face.
The remains were evidently those of a foreigner. This I judged from the peculiar cut of his garments, and his light blue eyes and general contour of his face. The features were clouted with blood and grime, the clothing of cheap material was comparatively new, and was torn in many places. The pockets of the trousers were turned inside out, the lapel torn, leaving two of the buttons hanging by a thread. The shoes heavy, of the brogan type, were black, lace-crusted with a dark yellow mud, which was still damp - and the hat, a black Fedora, was crushed and torn.
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