The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1896-03-15
ny STEPHEN CRANE.

circumstances. / had long considered this
deed; but | am a delicate and sensitive
person, you understand and I hesitated
over IL as the diver hesitates on the
brink Of a dark and icy mountain pool. 4
thought Of the shock Of contact holds one
back
As ! was passing his house one morning
I said 10 myself: well. at any rate,
II she loves me IL will not be for long"
And after that decision 1 was not my
SELF but sort Of machine.
l rang the bell and the servant ad-
mitted me to the drawing room. l waited
there while the tall old clock placidly
licked its speech OF time The rigid and
austere chairs retained their singular i'm
rbability-although. of course. they
were aware of my purpose; but the little
white tiles of the floor whispered one to
another and looked at me.
Presently he entered the room. and /
drawing my revolver, shot him. He
screamed-you know that scream-mostly
amazement-and as he fell forward his
blood was upon the little white tiles. They
huddled and covered their eyes from this
rain. 1t seemed to me that the old clock
stopped ticking, as man may gasp in
the middle of a sentence; and chair
threw itself in my way as | sprang to-
ward the door.
A moment later ] was walking down
the street-tranquil, you understand-and
l said to myself: 1T is done. Long years
from this day / will say to her that u
was l who killed him. After time has
eaten the conscience Of the thing, she
Will admire my courage"
| was elated that the affair had gone
off so smoothly: l felt like returning home
and taking long. full sleep. like a tired
workingman When people passed me,
contemplated their stupidity with sense
of satisfaction.
But those accursed little white tiles!
| heard a shrill crying and chattering
behind me, ana looking back. ! saw them
blood stained and impassioned, raising
their little hands and screaming: Muir
der! II was he'll have said that they had
little hands. | am not so sure of IL, but
they had some means Of indicating me as
unerringly as pointing fingers. As for their
movement they swept along as easily as
dry, light leaves are carried by the wind
Always they were shrilly piping their
song of my guilt.
TO be pursued by crowd of little blood
stained tiles. / used thousand means to
be free from the clash-clash of those tiny
feet. ran through the world at my best
speed, but 1t was no better than that OF
an OK; while they, my pursuers, were al
ways fresh, eager relentless.
l am an ingenious person, and / used
every trick that desperately fertile man
can invent Hundreds of times ] had al
most evaded them, when some shoulder
ing, neglected spark would blaze up and
discover me.
l felt that the eye of conviction would
have no terrors for me, but the eyes of
suspicion which / saw in city after city,
on road after road. drove me to the verge
of going forward and saying Yes, have
murdered"
People would see the pursuing clam
orous troop of blood-stained tiles and
give me piercing chances, so that these
swords played continually at my heart
But we are decorous race, thank God
1t is very vulgar TO apprehend murder
ers on the public streets. We have
glish. Besides, who can be sure OF the
meaning of clamoring tiles? 1t might be
merely a trick OF politics.
Detectives? What are detectives? oh,
yes, | have read of them and their deeds
when | come to think of it. The prehis-
toric races must have been remarkable:
how the detectives navigated in stone
boats. Still, specimens Of their pottery
excavated in Taumalipas show remark
able knowledge Of mechanics; ! remem.
Der the little hydraulic-what's that?
Well, what you say may be true, my
friend, but l think, you dream
The little stained tiles. My friend. /
stopped in an inn at the ends OF the
earth and in the morning they were
there, flying like birds and pecking at
/ should have escaped. Heavens,
should have escaped. What was more
simple? l murdered and then walked into
the world, which is wide and intricate
Do you know that my own clock assist
ed in the hunt for me? They asked what
time 1 had left my home that morning
and ii replied at once: Half after eight"
The watch of man ] had CHANGED TO
pass near the house or the crime told the
people "Seven minutes after nine" And
of course, the tall old clock in the drawing
room went about day after day repeating:
Eighteen minutes after nine"
DO you say that the man who caught me
was very clever? My friend, have lived
long, and he was the most incredible
blockhead of my experience. An enslaved,
dust-eating Mexican vanquero wouldn't
III n n a No
think he deserves credit for my capture2
If he had been as pervading as the at
mosphere. he would never have caught
me If he was a detective, as you say,
] could carve a better one from an old
table-leg. But the tiles That is another
matter. At night ! think they flew in a
long high fiocks, like pigeons. In the day.
little mad things. they murmured on my
trial Ike frothy mouthed weazels
/ see that you note these great, round,
vivid orange spots on my coat or course.
even IL the detective was really carved
from an old table-leg, he could hardly fail
to apprehend man thus badged. AS
came these spots upon my coat. When
/ discovered them, / made an effort to
free myself Of this coat | tore, tugged !
wrenched at it, but around my shoulders
il was like the grip OF dead mans
arms DO you know that | have plunged
i'm thousand lakes? / have smeared
this coat with a thousand paints But
day and night the spots burn like lights
! might walk from this jail to-day If l
could rid myself Of this coat, but It
s-clings-clings.
Al any rate the person you call a de-
tective was not so clever to discover a
man in coat of spotted orange. followed
Nv shrieking, blood-stained tiles.
Yes. that noise from the corridor is
most peculiar. But they are always
there. muttering and watching. clashing
and iostling II sounds as If the dishes
Of hades were being washed. Yet ] have
become used to it. Once, indeed, in the
night. | cried out to them: "In Gods
name' co away. little blood-stafned files -
But they doggedly answered: 1T is
the law"
A Queer Pet.