The herald., 1896-07-28
MERE CHANCE. q, q



cumstancos. L had long considered this
deed, but an a delicate and sensitive per-
sou, you understand, and hesitated over
it as the diver hesitates on the brink of Q
dark and icy mountain pool A thought q
the shock of contact holds one back.
As L was passing bis house one morning
] said to myself, "Well, at any rate, II she
loves him it will not be for long, And
after that decision was not myself, but q
sort of a machine.
rang the bell and the servant admitted
me to the drawing room. l waited there
while the tall old clock placidly ticked it's
speech of time. The rigid and austere
chairs retained their singular imperturba-
bility-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 I,
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 mo that the old clock
stopped ticking, rs a man may gasp in the
middle of sentence, and chair threw it,
self in my way as 1 sprang toward the
door.
A moment later was walking down
the street-tranquil, you understand-and
! said to myself: st is done! Long years
from this day 1 will say to her that it was
! who killed him. After time has eaten
the conscience of tho thing she will admire
my courage"
was elated that the affair had gone Of
so smoothly. I felt like returning home and
taking long, full Sleep like a tired work.
ingman. When people passed me, con-
templated their stupidity with sense OF
satisfaction.
But those accurscd little white tilesl
heard a shrill crying and chattering
behind me, and, looking back, saw them,
blood stained and impassioned, raising
their little hands and screaming: g Muir
der 1t was hel'' 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 were shrilly piping
their song of my guilt.
My friend, may it never beyour fortune
to be pursued by crowd of little blood
stained tiles. l used thousand means
to be free from the clash clash of those
tiny feet. l ran through the world at my
best speed, but it was no better than that
Of an OK, while they, my pursuers, were
always fresh, eager, relentless.
am an ingenious person, and used
every trick that desperately fertile man
can invent. Hundreds of times I had al
most evaded them, when some smolder-
ing, neglected spark would blaze up and
discover Inc.
| l felt that the eye of conviction would
| have no terror5 for me, but the eyes of sus-
| picion 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, clamor-
GUS troop of blood stained tiles and give
me piercing glances, SO that these swords
played continually at my heart. But wo
are q decorous race, thank God 1t is very
vulgar to apprehend murderers on the
public streets We have learned correot
manners from tho English. Besides who
can be sure Of the meaning Of clamoring
tiles? 1t might be merely trick Of poll
tics.
Detectivesp What are detectivesl Oh,
yes I have read of them and their Deeds
when come to think of it. The prehis-
toric races must have been remarkable.
have never been able to understand how
the detectives navigated in stone boats.
Still specimens Of their pottery excavated
in Taumalipas show remarkable knowl-
edge of mechanics. l remember tho little
hydraulic-what's thatp Well, what you
say may 10 true, tly 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 were there flying
like birds and peoking at my window.
I should have escaped. Heavens, !
should havo escaped! What was more
simpler 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 1t re-
piled at once "Half after s." The
watch of man had CHANGED to pass near
the house of the crine told the people,
"Seven minutes after 90 And Of course
the tall old clock in the drawing room
went about day after day repeating,
Eighteen minutes after g."
Do you say that tho man who caught
me was very cleverP My friend, I havo
lived long and he was the most incredible
blockhead Of my experience. An enslaved,
dust eating Mexican vaquero wouldn't
hitch his pony to such man. Do you
think he deserves credit for my capture?
II he had been as pervading as the atmos-
phere, he would never have caught me. IT
he was a detective, as you say, 1 could
carve a better one from an old table leg.
But the tiles That is another matter. AT
night, think they flew in long high
fiooks, like pigeons In the day, little mad
things, they murmured on my trail like
frothy mouthed weasels.
/ SOC 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 man thus badged. AS sores
come upon ono in the plague, SO came
these spots upon my coat When l discov-
erod them, made an effort to free myself
of this coat. tore, tugged, wrenched at
it, but around my shoulders it was like
the grip of dead mans arms. Do you
know that have plunged in thousand
lakes? l have smeared this coat with
thousand paints. But day and night the
spots burn like lights. / might walk from
this Jail today if l could rid myself Of the
coat, but it clings-clings-clin
At any rate the person you call detect-
i've was not SO clever to discover a man in
q coat of spotted orange followed by
shrieking, blood stained tiles.
Yet that noise from tho corridor is most
peculiar. But they are always there, mutt
tering and watching, clashing and jos