The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1896-04-27
MERE CHANCE.


would not have been detected in it if it
were not for some very extraordinary cir
oumstances. had long considered this
deed but I am a delicate and sensitive per
son. you understand, and I hesitated over
&c as the diver hesitates on the brink Of a
dark and icy mountain pool. A Thought Of
the shock OF contact holds one back.
As was passing his house one morning
7 said to myself 'sWell, at any rate, If she
loves him it will not be for long" And
after that decision was not myself, but
sort Of a machine.
rang the bell and the servant admitted
me to the drawing room. I waited there
while the tall old clock plaoidly licked its
speech Of time. The rigid and austere
chairs retained their singular inperturba-
bility-althouPh, 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 I,
drawing my revolver, shot him. He
soreamed-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 it
self in my way as I sprang toward the
door.
A moment later was walking down
the street-tranquil, you understand-Rnd
I said to myself: 1T IS done! Long years
from this day I viii say to her that it was
I whe killed him. After time has eaten
the conscience of the thing she will admire
nay courage"
I was eiated that the affair had gone of
so smoothly. Ifeltlike returning home and
taking a long, full sleep, like a tired work
ingmAn. When people passed me, con-
templated their stupidity with a Sc Sc Of
satisfaction.
But those aocursed little white tilesl
heard a shrin crying and ohattering
behiHd me, and, looking back, saw them,
blood stained and impassioned, raising
their little hands and screaming: MUIR
dori 1t was hei' I have said that they
had little hands am not SO sure of it,
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 we're shrilly piping
their song Of nay guilt.
NY friend, may it never beyOur fortune
TO be pursued by a crowd of little blood
stained tiles. I used a thousand means
to be free from the clash, clash of those
tiny feet. ran through the world at my
best speed, but it was no better than that
Of an OK while they, my pursuerss were
always fresh, eager, relentless.
am an ingenious person, and I used
every trick that a desperately fertile man
oan invent. Hundreds of times I had al
most evaded them, when some smolder-
ing, neglected spark would blaze up and
discover me.
fClt that the eye Of conviction would
have no terrors for me, but the eyes Of sus-
pioion which I saw in city after city, on
road after road, drove me to the verge Of
going forward and saying, Yes, I have
murdered
People would see the pursuing, olamor-
Gus troop of blood stained tiles and give
me piercing glances, SO that these swords
played inually at my heart. But we
are q deoorous race, thank Godl 1t is very
vulgar to approhend murderers on the
public streets. We have learned correct
manners from the English. Besides who
can DO sure Of the meaning of olamOring
tiles2 1t might be merely a trick of poll
tics.
Detectives? What are detectives? Oh,
yes, I have read of them and their deeds,
when L come to think of it. The prehis-
torio races must have been remarkable. I
have never been able to understand how
the detectives navigated in stone boats.
Still specimens of their pottery exoavated
in Taumalipas show remarkable knOwl-
edge of mechanics. renem Der the little
hydraulio-what's that? Well, what you
say may be true, my friend, but think
you dream.
The little stained tiles My friend.
stopped in an inn at the end Of the earth,
and in the morning they we're there, flying
like birds and peoking at my window.
I should have escaped. Heavens, I
should have escaped What was more
simpler I murdered and then walked into
the world, which is wide and intricate.
Do you know that my own clock assisted
in the hunt of me? They asked what time
left my homo that morning and it re-
piled at once, Half after g." The
watch Of man I had CHANGED to pass near
the house of the crime told the people,
"Seven minutes after g. And of course
the tall old clock in the drawing room
went about day after day repeating,
Eighteen minutes after 9.
Do you say shat the man who caught
me was very cleverq My friend, I have
lived long and no was the most incredible
bI0ckhead of my experience. An enslaved,
dust eating Mexican vaquero wouldn't
hitch his pony to such a man. Do you
think he deserves credit for my capture?
If he had been as pervading as the atmOs-
phare, he would never have caught me. If
be was a detective, as you say, I could
carve q better one from an old table leg
But the tilesl That is another matter At
night, I think they dew in long high
fiOoks, like pigeons. In the day, little mad
things, they murmured on my trail Ike
frothy mou6hed wsasels.
I see that you note these great, round,
vivid orange spots on my coat. OF course
even If the detective was really carved
from an old table leg he could hardly fail
to apprehend a man thus badged As sores
come upon one in the plague, SO came
these spots upon my coat. When I disoOv-
cred them, I made an effort to free myself
Of this coat tore, tugged, wrenched at
it, but around my shoulders it was like
the grip Of a dead mans arms. Do you
know that I have plunged in a thousand
lakes? I have smeared this coat with a
thousand paints But day and night the
spots burn like lights. might walk from
this jail today if I could rid myself Of the
coat hr1e If -o1fnua-o17noa