San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1889-08-06
THE SECRET OUT.

Jorlette will be on board the 7:SO mail train.
Follow him to Liverpool viii meet you there.
Look sharp CATHCARr.
This was the wording of the telegram | re-
ceived one wet, ugly night last December.
was sitting in my little snuggery back of my
office, before blazing CRATE, with my feet in
slippers and my body in a warm dressing
room. | had mug of hot punch and a cold
mince pie on the table before me, along with
an uncut novel and genuine Havana, with
which | intended to regale myself presently.
And although had very strong anxiety to
secure Jorlette, it must be confessed that
was altogether too comfortably situated to
relish going out into the cold that dismally
dirty night
This telegram was from my chief, who,
might as well say, was detective and | had
followed that thankless and precarious bust
ness for several years. People considered me
| very successful in working up difficult cases,
but | was never quite satisfied with myself
wonder if any man ever isl
This same Jorlette had given us a great
deal of trouble. We had never had so keenly
cunning a spirit to cope with. Strategy was
matched with strategy, diplomacy with diplo-
macy; and scores of times, when we were sure
of him, he had slipped from under our fingers
like flea and left us wondering how he man
aged it.
Perhaps it would be well to explain that
Pierre Jorlette was a murderer, upon whose
head was set price of $4,000 by the crown.
A Frenchman and nobleman by birth, gen
tleman by education, he had when very
young married beautiful English girl, with
whom he passed two years of unalloyed hap
ha IF hnt inn mi
shadow came between them-none knew of
what nature-and the inhuman husband
stabbed his wife to the hearth Her confiden-
tial maid witnessed the deed and attempted
to save the life of her Mistress but Jorlette
fell upon her with savage ferocity and left
the two corpses lying together side by side.
These are the facts as briefly as | can state
them to you Of course there were many
minor circumstances not worth recording, as
they have little bearing upon the short story
| am writing
1t seemed from this telegram that Jorlette
was to be on the 1880 train. wondered how
Cathcart had got his information, but he had
| armies of spies constantly working for him,
and probably some of them had made the
discovery
had only to follow instructions.
For the hundredth time | took Jorlette's
photograph from my pocketbook and exam
ined the features of the murderer 1t was a
singularly handsome face that | saw-clearly
cut, with large hazel eyes shaded by long,
dark lashes, mouth delicate and sensitive
as a woman's, high, rather narrow fore
head, half hidden in clustering curls of au-
burn hair, a form rather spare, yet well knit,
and a hand symmetrical and rounded as
Homans.
The picture would have answered splendidly
for that of a sentimental, sonnet making
poet-but for murderer it was a dead fail
ure. Nevertheless, somewhere in the past,
before crime had scathed him, Jorlette had
sat for it.
changed my slippers for boots and got
myself inside my fur overcoat stuffed a
val sc with brown paper and backing brushes,
that | might appear respectable traveller,
and, looking at my watch, found | had just
time to reach the station.
The train stopped ten minutes for refresh,
ments, and, taking the guard, who was an
old friend Of mine, sufficiently into my conf
dence, | was given an opportunity of looking
through the carriages previous to the start
ing OF the train.
1t was a full train, but, siugularly enough,
there was NOT red headed man ON board of
t. J0rl.utn was red headed, and, aside from
that circumstance, he had a fuce which fat.
tered myself could not readily mistake.
As ! sJuoG IgresulUte, aud feeling very much
as ii bad been fooled, there came toward
me from tle dining room an individual, tall
and su,,e, with slouched bat, white era