The Cook County herald. [volume] (Grand Marais, Minn.) 1893-1909, 1907-10-05
A Murderer's Masquerade.
BYtEDGAR FAWCETT
Copyright, 1906 by Joseph 3. Bowles.)

ceremony quite by the throat.
Something stopped me dead short,
however, latter had got through three
or. four sentences. A hardness came
over the delicate features; the soft
brightness of the eyes lessened, faded.
perhaps the home secretary might
do something, doctor. He is sort of
remote cousin to us Wyndhams. But,
no! I don't want his-his ticket of
leave. really DON'T
He sighed little as he spoke, and
can see now, though I did not see
then, that I thoroughly missed the
meaning Of the sigh.
But you are still so young"
II am a thousand-in hideous ex-
perience. And liberty? With my no.
toriety it would be only a burden
Don't call it experience I ven
tured, with sympathy given full rein.
''Your mind was not then as now.
! YOU
He interrupted me by gesture
slight and brisk. It acted on me like
! the tap on a marble table.
my mind was gone once, that is all.
1t came back after my long illness
it came entirely back"
Of this I did not believe word.
He might be sane now, but of all au
thorlties on his mental condition he
himself was undoubtedly the worst.
Still, while his ice-blue eyes held me,
set in that lean, pensive, colorless face
the face more of an ascetic than of
criminal maniac-I felt chills among
my veins.
You don't mean-you surely don't
mean," I essayed, that you were of
right mind-when you let yourself go
-afterWard?''
| He drew his figure we'll up, glancing
right and left. For an instant he had
the air to me of some one suspicious
about eavesdroppers. Then he gave
laugh of soft scoff, his tense pose re-
laxing
'Why should I care now?" he NUT
! tered. "They've tried me. They can't
try me again.
| mo; they can't try you again.
when that unspeakable blackguard
struck me that british blow, it was
because told him l would marry
Margaret Boyce in the most public
way. The long coma that followed
was broken by a dull consciousness,
during which I would lie for hours
in bed and realize all that had passed.
Forgive Dyott I could not Hate him
l felt that I always must. Revenge
myself upon him? Well, the thought
of how and when made my feeble
brain feebler, and protracted by phys
1cal reaction my convalescence for
weeks. All this time I knew myself
to be mercilcss in his hands. mean,
as regarded her. l knew that he was
capable of any act in the way of per-
manently dividing u.s.
: "You-don't mean,'' I faltered, "that
he cou possibly-have-"
! ''Killed her? Yes; l do mean just
that. I mean that he did kill her."
; Good God!" escaped me.
There, in that laboratory-near the
library, where l killed him. .
He made it all plain to me-by innu-
endo, yet Enthusiastically. In the labora-
tory, as I we'll knew, he had many
deadly drugs. Margaret, while I was
lying at deaths door, had stolen to
see him with utmost secrecy and eau
tion. She had written him that she
would come-and how. He met her
at a certain gate (you don't know
Thornbourne, or you'd understand
just where), and they went together
to his special wing of the house, en-
tering by sort of semi-private door.
There long interview took place;
he admitted nit. But she told him she
would never give me up till bade
her to do so. She was a gentle girl,
but with spirit that could be reused.
He must have reused it. Afterward
she felt faint and staggered to sofa.
He offered her something to drink.
She took it,
"He told you this?''
While l gasped the words my COM
panion nodded.
"He made it plain. He didn't put it
as I put it, Recollect, he had lost his
head. I had driven him into a fury.
For myself, I think I was more horri-
fed and torture-stricken then, than
angry. Besides, l felt incredulous,
too. told him that he was lying.
But if not, 1 added, he should be held
to strictest account. Slain people leave
their corpses behind them. Thousands
Of pounds would be spent in finding
Margaret's body. 1T cannot be so far
from where we now stand said.
oh, it shall be found-be sure of
that!' My hand was on bell-rope
while I spoke. meant to summon the
servants then and there. But
had pricked him into: the last spasm,
so to speak, of wrathful folly.
"'Stop!' he said, with a kind Of fog
in his throat, and his twitching face
CHASTITY. do you remember that big
mastiff, Dagmar, which we suspected
Eof madness here at Thornbourne about
three years ago, and which you your
self ordered shot2l Do you remember
Ehow / had her body brought to my
4 = -.