The times., 1898-05-29
The Murderer.

1t grew dark early at the time of year
that the company played the new melo-
drama at the Orpheum Excepting the
street lamps very little could be seen at
O'Clock, when the Murderer started for
the theater. He was nervous and the
noises on the way disturbed him. He
was also bent. not with age but because
instinct taught him that ne would not be
SO easily noticed in that position. That
everyone who passed could see his brand
ed forehead his innermost soul felt no
doubt. And yet he was thinking of none
of these things. He was trying to recall
at what time his victim generally reach
ed the playhouse and to sum up the
chances he had of meeting the watchman.
He was also a coward-this Murderer
who had determined to kill whether he
was caught or not. but who was yet very
much afraid.
But to keep from turning back he fore
ed himself to brood over his injuries and
to think of the man who had caused
them. Then he pictured TO himself how
he might act, even what he would say on
the scaffold and stopped still more. By
this time he had reached the theater and
passed the front lights with a sudden
burst of speed. Then he crawled down
the alleyway. The stage door was open
and he peered in. No one was there. but
the light above was clothed in glass of a
reddish hue. Silently he stole through
the wings to his dressing-room and up
the steps. When he had entered and shut
the door he felt safer, though he was
shivering. glass of brandy stood on
the table and he tasted it.
Then he opened the door and still
standing back. reached round and opened
that next to him. He slid past the parti-
ton as a serpent glides round a tree.
With nervous fingers he felt in some
clothing hanging on the wall until he
touched the cold steel of a revolver. 1t
had been expected. and yet he stood as
one who has been thrown into iced wa
ter He listened a moment and then drew
the weapon out. 1t was loaded with a
blank cartridge and this he removed
substituting one from his own pocket and
placing the first one there instead He
listened again. Someone was coming He
crept back, shuddering. The footsteps
died away and all was still again The
Murderer put back the revolver and
started to go. Then he stopped and
looked to see if he had left a trace Once
he smiled-a hideous smile-and thought
of the changes the hour would bring. And
then he saw the gallows again and shiy-
cred and stole forth into the night.
Twice he stopped on his way, and wait
ed listening, but he met no one. Once
outside the theater he ran-not because
he was afraid, but because he could not
help it. When out of breath he walked
quickly and then ran again. He wished
to remove what he had left but would
not. AT home he dreamed of what would
happen and of what had happened In
everything he saw the red of blood and
heard the cries of a man who is dying
Three times he gave way, and started to
return, and each time he stopped. The
roof of his mouth was dry and hard and
his lips were cracked. The hour seemed
impossibly early. When he lay down he
began dreading all things. At last he
sank into fevered sleep. in which he
dreamed of much that had occurred.
And that night at the theater. through
a mistake of some kind, in the scene
where a woman shoots her lover, hu-
man life was sacrificed.