Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1899-04-30

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WykeQ you, because tQeT0 was uOtulu
else to do, and this is the thanks !
get for it,"
] darted a dagger Of scorn at him.
from my eyes straight to his, but his
were DULY reproachful, as those OF a
simple country pumpkin with griev-
ance.
Argument was useless, and took a
step past him towards the open door,
feeling somewhat sick and light-head-
ed.
THE police shall know the Spinning
Jinney's secrets" l quietly remarked.
They're welcome, sir" and the ruff
fan actually cnuckled.
The cheerful defiance of his tone
caused me to turn, with an angry sense
upon me of being baffied. One look I
flung him, and then began to examine
the trap where my life had SO nearly
been brought to an untimely close, for
l felt it might be we'll to have some
proofs to bring forward in making my
strange statement to the police.
I began my operations with the juno
ton of the floor and the wall. Round
the latter ran an ordinary strip of
wood, or wainscoting. There was no
visible and suspicious separation
nothing to which I could draw atten-
ton in telling my story. I hurried to
the bed, which, in moment not to be
forgotten, had observed to be clamp
ed to the boards beneath, fixed and i'm
movable, even as the floor sloped down.
1t was not thus fastened now, and as
far as I could see there were few. if
any, traces that it ever had been so.
l was dumbfounded; so. utterly at
sea as to wonder if it were true that I
had dreamt the horror lately past.
There will, at least, be the machin-
cry somewhere to prove it," l uncon-
sciously uttered the words alond.
Machinery? We amt got no ma
chinery, bless your cart, sir. I'll be
sendin out for a doctor presently if
you don't git no better. Come with
me, if you like, and look round for ma
chinery, though whatever sort you
mean, and what for, it beats me, that
it do"
1t struck me at this moment that Mr..
Smith was fortunate in his servants,
and l yearned the more to choke the
vile secrets of crime and far-reaching
power from that man of mystery. This
thought was in my mind, and another
less defnite-a certain dim, reluctant
recognition of defeat. I might go to
the police with my story. Could
make it seem more plausible than the
other so intimately connected with
this, which some unknown number of
hours earlier l had decided it would be
far wiser for the present to keep to
myself? My heated blood began to
cool. More keenly than ever came
back the impression of being a figure
in dream. Perhaps, l had dreamt it
all-the rattle of mechanism unseen,
the sinking floor, the line Of mouldy
brickwork slowly widening under my
waiting eyes, the sudden clamor. the
cry of Stop" the cessation of sounds,
the renewed rustling, and the smell
which even yet, in retrospect, seemed
f11y Trash roctri1c
could 1 account for what had happened
If it had happened? Why, if the ma
chinery had been set in motion for my
murder, had it been stopped? What of
the telegram of which the man spoke?
Had it brought a command to him-or
had there been another-or was my
brain busily manufacturing nonsense?
Such questions l had had to ask my
self before that day. Then they had
been speedily and effectually answered,
in way satisfactory to my forebodings
but now l felt that an answer would
not be as easily forthcoming. had
gone through something of late. enough
it might be, to account for dreams in
any form. Should l ever know the
truth-know what value and reliance
to place upon these Impressions of
mine, smarting still, like the branding
wounds of red-hot iron, cauterising
flesh and nerves?
All these occurrences of that strange
night of storm in Edinburg / have set