I had been a junior partner in the firm of Veeley, Carr & Raymond, attorneys and counsellors at law, for about a year, when one morning, in the temporary absence of both Mr. Veeley and Mr. Carr, there came into our office a young man whose whole appearance was so indicative of haste and agitation that I involuntarily rose at his approach and impetuously inquired: ‚What is the matter? You have no bad news to tell, I hope.‘ ‚I have come to see Mr. Veeley; is he in?‘ ‚No, ‚ I replied; ‚he was unexpectedly called away this morning to Washington; cannot be home before to-morrow; but if you will make your business known to me-‚ ‚To you, sir?‘ he repeated, turning a very cold but steady eye on mine; then, seeming to be satisfied with his scrutiny, continued, ‚There is no reason why I shouldn’t; my business is no secret. I came to inform him that Mr. Leavenworth is dead.‘ ‚Mr. Leavenworth!‘ I exclaimed, falling back a step. Mr. Leavenworth was an old client of our firm, to say nothing of his being the particular friend of Mr. Veeley. ‚Yes, murdered; shot through the head by some unknown person while sitting at his library table.‘ ‚Shot! murdered!‘ I could scarcely believe my ears.
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