The Forrest City times., 1896-05-01

your own shoulders. 1t was you who forged that draft, and not I, and you know it, though l served my term in the penitentiary for the crime. You call yourself gentleman now, Henry Mason, and l am worse than dog, but my hour has come. Lead on home."
 The wretch had raised his voice al- most to a scream and now waved the pistol in the air. The man walked on, glancing over his shoulder furtively.
 Il told you l should not kill you un- less you tried to escape" said Scott. with sheer. If you speak to any passerby, however, you are dead man on the word. Go on.
 The rest of the way was made in silence. Scott was close upon Derwent's heels when he mounted the marble steps of his stately mansion and turned the latch key. Within all was quiet. the wretch had counted on this; it was well past midnight. The gentle radiance of the soft lights, the warm air of the elegant house almost overpowered him, but Derwent heard the click of the bis tol in his trembling hand and pushed open the library door.
 ''So this is your home, Henry Mason ?'' said Scott, staring at him.
 Not so loud, man, for Gods sake!" cried Derwent.
 So this is your home?" Scott pro- ceeded, unheeding. Not much like the prison cell that was my home for ten years, thanks to you, Henry Mason; not very much like the ratholes that make about the only home know now"
 What do you want, man?" began Derwent, his hand finding his pocket again.
 Pen and paper." said Scott, fiercely, rousing himself and sinking in to chair at the writing table. Now. do you sit there across the room from me. Move or speak at your own risk"
 Scott took the pistol in his left hand and began to write, yet keeping a close eye upon Derwent all the while. By and by he read aloud:
 san Francisco. Cal. Jan F. 1s96.-T. Henry Mason. alias Thomas J. Derwen.. do hereby certify that I forged the no. (, upon the Goldthwaite bank of New York city 20 years ago. tor which crime Howard Scott stood accused. I declare said Scott innocent: 1 alone am guilty"
 Come, now, and sign your name. Straight goods; I know your sigma ture, remember"
 'I will give you S1O,oOo, S15. .OoO, S2O,- ooo--" began Derwent, eagerly.
 Sign"
 
 "Sign," and the pistol clicked.
 Derwent bent over the paper. "One hundred thousand d--anything, every thing"
 Write Henry Mason, alias Thomas J. Derwent," said Scott.
 The man wrote. staggering back from the table with groan.
 "Now, that part of the business is finished. Resume your seat, said Scott. II want to do some writing on my own hook, and these are about as cozy quar- ters as I can find. You are pretty well known at home, Henry Mason, if you did shunt that forgery off on me. and it will add somewhat to the interest of my telegrams to state that they were written in your own handsomely-ap- pointed library. When I have finished l shall use your telephone a moment. The boys at the station know me pretty well. A special correspondent comes to know great many people. you know," he said, with short laugh. and shall have no difficulty in getting man to take charge of you. Whatever else they know about me they know l am no liar. After that my game is played"
 He wrote on busily for an hour. At last he picked up the loose sheets and read aloud what he had written. He had told the truth when ne said hc knew how to write. The story that he told of his own suffering for the crime of another would have made him fa- nous, so full was it of dramatic power and graphic detail. At the first merci- less headlines Derwcnt groaned aloud, but Scott went on pitilessly, telling the whole dark story of the mans crime. Meanwhile he sat with his head bowed in bis hands listening. He did not raise his head even when Scott rang the tele- phone bell and ordered man up frcm the station. The house of cards which it had taken him 20 years to build Lad tumbled about his head and he sat bowed and broken among the ruins. The passing moments seemed hours of agony and despair. In the midst of it all there was frou of skirts in the hall and the batter of slippered f=et on the hardwood floor. The door opened softly.
 'Is it you, father, dear?" a sweet voice asked, and Scott looked up to see - young girl standing in the doorway, the brass bolt still in her small white