like the rest of mankind, in the hope and expectation of a busy
morrow. Crime perpetrated looms so large in the soul, and this man
had a soul as big as his body; of that I was assured. That its
instincts were cruel and inherently evil, did not lessen its capacity
for suffering. And he was suffering now; I could not doubt it,
remembering the lovely face and fragrant memory of the noble woman
he had, under some unknown impulse, sent to an unmerited doom.

At last I slept, but it was only to rouse again with the same quick
realisation of my surroundings, which I had experienced on my
recovery from my fainting fit of hours before. Someone had stopped
at our door before hurrying by down the hall. Who was that someone?
I rose on my elbow, and endeavoured to peer through the dark. Of
course, I could see nothing. But when I woke a second time, there
was enough light in the room, early as it undoubtedly was, for me
to detect a letter lying on the carpet just inside the door.

Instantly I was on my feet. Catching the letter up, I carried it
to the window. Our two names were on it--Mr. and Mrs. George
Anderson: the writing, Mr. Slater's.

I glanced over at George. He was sleeping peacefully. It was too
early to wake him, but I could not lay that letter down unread; was
not my name on it? Tearing it open, I devoured its contents,--the
exclamation I made on reading it, waking George.

The writing was in Mr. Slater's hand, and the words were:

"I must request, at the instance of Coroner Heath and such of
the police as listened to your adventure, that you make no