Pawtucket tribune. (Pawtucket, R.I.) 1890-189?, 1894-01-23
HIS LAST CHANCE.

IN nis nand to stop the rustnng ana tnen
heard steps coming across the lawn.
They came heavily, not as one would
expect man 10 spring across a lawn TO
an open drawing room window. But then
Lindsay had been late and probably tired
on the evening of the murder.
He came in sight now, and Detective
Sharp saw that he was STOPPING and hold
ing out his arms in front OF him, "a IL
carrying some heavy weight. He came on
10 the window, and now the detective
could see his face, white, with drops OF
perspiration standing out on the forehead
and terroSstricken eyes that seemed fixed
on the lounge chair on which the dead
body had been found.
David entered the room with his dread
imaginary burden, and going straight 10
the chair went through the pantdmime of
laying the burden down there, of placing
what might he dagger on the floor. Then
he flew To the bell and would have rung il
had not Detective Sharp stopped him.
"For Gods sake, wake up, Lindsayv' the
detective cried, passing his hand over
Lindsay's forehead, as the signal that had
been agreed upon between them for arous-
ing David from his hypnotic trance.
Lindsay sank into chair. without
speaking and with hand that did not
tremble, he took from his pocket the note
that he had written few minutes Gg', and
handed IL TO the detective Outside IL said
"You know that IL was who commit
ted the murder, and | know that you
know, and that you are trying TO drive me
To confess it,"
The detective dropped the note as IL it
burned him and stared in increased amaze
ment at his friend.
~ never suspected you for moment,
David" he said. "How did you do iti"
Lindsay sat up suddenly, the red color
OF anger at himself flooding his face
"You didn't knowi" he asked, with rough
incredulity.
"of course didn't. and don'tsee how
you did il yet"
81 sent for you on purpose, because !
knew whoever came would find out all
about it" said Lindsay, "and | thought
you'd let me off. It's all written on the
paper"
The detective picked mp the paper that
he had dropped. Yes, there il was, written
In a small, cramped handwriting. He took
it to the candle and read as follows:
"On the night of the murder was driv-
ing home from Leeds and had got TO n
bend in the road about mile from here
when we met Lucy, and | took her into
the brougham. She had come across the
fields to tell me that Cyril Holt had been
to see her, and now she had promised to
elope with him.
"Whether she had come to tell me about
It because she had repented and decided
not to do IL, or whether she had determined
TO tell the truth and brave me and had run
to meet me and do IL before her courage
failed, don't know. When she sat oppo-
site to me and told me so straight out that
she had promised that day To leave me for
Holt, ! snatched the dagger from her hair
and stabbed her. The clever way in which
she was stabbed so as to cause no blood
shed was simply an accident.
"I stopped the brougham and told Miles.
Everybody about here knows that Miles IL
bit simple; that / did a good turn for
him once, and that he would serve me as
a dog.
al brought her home-half an hours
drive-carried her into the drawing room
In the dark and rang the bell. The serv
ants were in the kitchen and had not seen
me enter. In driving through the village
put Lucy into the bottom of the brough-
am, so that she should not be seen. That
Is ALL"
in the semidarkness Of the drawing
room, lit only by a single wax candle, De
tective Sharp and his old friend sat look
ing at each other in silence. Into the de
tective's mind, relieved now of surprise, a
new suggestion came with jump. Here
at last was success.
That very night a-telegram might go of
to Scotland Yard announcing the discov-
cry of the murderer
IL Detective Sharp accepted the prize
that lay within his grasp now, it meant
success for the present, success for the fu-
ture, everything that he had most longed
for.
David Lindsay sat crouching I'm his
chair, his dull eyes, dulled by weeks of
fear and by overmuch brandy, taken to
quell the fear, fixed on his friend
The course, fleshy face was not much
like the ruddy, healthy face of the youth
to whom Detective Sharp had vowed a
lifelong friendship 80 years ago. The
thick, forbidding looking lips were silent,
so no Scotch accent recalled old highland
memories.
The two men sat silent, arbiter and cul-
prit. A ghostly night wind soughed in and
out of the silk curtains. Presently Detect
i've Sharp spoke:
"You must give me that berth in Aus
tralia, Davy, lad, he said. "I'll go out
and take it. t."-Exchange.