"
"Waal, but He won't tell," she drawled out. "Only I was wonderin' how
you really did feel, because the man who had that room last was found
one morning in bed--"
"In bed?"
"He was dead. He was the one before you. Oh! You don't need to get
rattled so. You're all right. And it all really happened, they do say.
This house used to be a private residence some twenty-five years ago,
and a German family of the name of Steinhardt lived here. They had a big
business in Wall Street, and stood 'way up in things."
"Ah!" said her listener.
"Oh yes, they did, right at the top, till one fine day it all bust and
the old man skipped with the boodle--"
"Skipped with the boodle?"
"That's so," she said; "got clear away with all the money, and the son
was found dead in his house, committed soocide it was thought. Though
there was some as said he couldn't have stabbed himself and fallen in
that position. They said he was murdered. The father died in prison.
They tried to fasten the murder on him, but there was no motive, or no
evidence, or no somethin'. I forget now.
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