Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1896-03-14
/ TALE OF MERE CHANCE
BIZ STEPHEN CRANE

| BIZ STEPHEN CRANE
| Yes, my friend, killed the man, but
| would not have been detected in 1t IL 1t
were not for some very extraordinary cir
| cumstances. had long considered this
| deed; but am delicate and sensitive per-
son. you underStBnd. and I hesitated over
| 1t as the diverssitates on the brink OF a
dark and icy Y4htain pool. A thought OF
the shock of csf{act holds one back.
| AS I was pasifSx his house one morning
said to mysefs4tsWell, at any rate IL she
| loves him, it viii not be for long," And
] after that decision was not myself. but
| sort of machine.
| I rang the bell and the servant admitted
me to the drawing room. 1 waited there
| while the tall old clock placidly licked its
| speech of time. The rigid and austere
| chairs retained their singular impertur-
| liability, 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 1.
drawing my revolver! shot him. He
| 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
81
| middle Of a sentence: and chair threw
| itself in my way as I sprang toward the
door,
| moment later was walking down the
| street-tranqui you Understandable 1 said
| to myself: ut is done. Long years from
! this day will say to her that 1t was who
| killed him. After time has eaten the con-
| science Of the thing she will admire my
courage
| 1 was elated that the affair had gone off
| so smoothly; felt like returning home and
| taking long, full sleep. like tired work
| ingman. When people passed me. l con-
| templated their stupidity with sense of
] satisfaction.
But those accursed little white tiles!
heard a shrill crying and chattering be-
! hind me, and looking back 1 saw them.
blood stained and impassioned, raising their
| little hands and screaming: Murder! 1t
! was he!' 1 have said that they had little
! hands. I 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 shrilIy piping their song Of my
guilt.
| My friend, may 1t never be your fortune
| to be pursued by a crowd OF little blood
| stained tiles I used thousand means to
| be free from the clash-clash of those tiny
| feet. l ran through the world at my best
speed, but 1t was no better than that of an
! OK; while they. my pursuers, were always
| fresh, eager, relentless.
every trick that desperately fertile man
| can invent. Hundreds of times 1 had al
most evaded them, when some smoldering,
neglected spark would blaze up and dis
cover me.
| I 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. clamorous
| troop of blood-stained tiles and give me
| piercing glances, so that these swords play
ed continually at my heart. But we are a
| decorous race thank God. 1t Is very vulgar
| to apprehend- 7murderers on the public
| streets We have learned correct manners
from the English Besides. who can be
| sure Of the meaning of clamoring tiles? 1t
might be merely trick of politics.
| Detectives? What are detectives? Oh,
| yes. 1 have read Of them and their deeds.
| when l come to think of 1t. The prehis-
! toric races must have been remarkable I
| have never been able to understand how
! the detectives naVigated in stone boats.
| Still, specimens of their pottery eXcavated
| In Taumalipas show a remarkable knowl-
| edge of mechanics, l remember the little
| acknowledgements that? Well. what you
| say may be true, my friend. but think
The little stained tiles. My friend, I
stopped in an inn at the ends of the earth,
I and in the morning they were there, flying
| like birds and pecking at my window
1 should have escaped. Heavens, should
| have escaped. What was more simple? 1
| murdered and then walked into the world,
| which is wide and intricate.
| Do yo,l know that my own clock assisted
1 in the hunt of me? They asked what time
! left my home that morning and 1t replied
| at once: Half after eight" The watch of
| man l had CHANGED to pass near the
| minutes after nine" And. of coure, 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 block
| head OF my experience. An enslaved, dust
pony to such man. Do you think he de-
| serves credit for my capture? If he had
been as pervading as the atmosphere he
would never have caught me. If he was a
| detective as you say, could carve a better
J che from an old table leg. But the tiles!
| That is another matter. At night I think
| they flew In long, high flock, like
| pigeons. In the day, little mad things. they
murmured on my trail like frothy- mouthed
weaZelS.
1 see that you note these great, round,
| vivid orange spots on my coat. OF course.
| from an old table leg, he could hardly fail
| to apprehepd a man thus badged. AS sores
come upon one In the plague. SO came these
spots upon my coat When 1 discovered
them, l made an effort to free myself of
this coat. I 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 thousand
paints. But day and night the spots burn
like lights I might walk from this Jail to-
day if could rid myself of this coat, but
it clings-cllngs-cling
At any rate the person you call a detective
was not 30 clever to discover a man in a
| coat Of spotted orange. followed by Shrek
ing, blood-stained tiles.
Yes. that noise from the corridor is most
peculiar. But they are always there mutt
tering and watching, clashing and jostling.
1t sounds as If the dishes Of hades were be-
ing washed. Yet I have become used to it.
Once. indeed. in the night, cried out to
them: In Gods name. go away, little
swered: ut Is the law"
PRICE OF BICYCLES.