The Horror at Red Hook

remarks of a bystander who had recognized him as the boarder of a
well-known dairyman on the outskirts of Chepachet.

He was, it developed, a New York police-detective named Thomas F.
Malone, now on a long leave of absence under medical treatment after
some disproportionately arduous work on a gruesome local case which
accident had made dramatic.  There had been a collapse of several old
brick buildings during a raid in which he had shared, and something
about the wholesale loss of life, both of prisoners and of his
companions, had peculiarly appalled him.  As a result, he had
acquired an acute and anomalous horror of any buildings even remotely
suggesting the ones which had fallen in, so that in the end mental
specialists forbade him the sight of such things for an indefinite
period.  A police surgeon with relatives in Chepachet had put forward
that quaint hamlet of wooden Colonial houses as an ideal spot for the
psychological convalescence; and thither the sufferer had gone,
promising never to venture among the brick-lined streets of larger
villages till duly advised by the Woonsocket specialist with whom he
was put in touch.  This walk to Pascoag for magazines had been a