He
could not rid himself altogether of this sense of unreality. He
had the feeling that he had passed through one of the great
crises of his life.
"I'll tell you, Andrew. You're about the only man in the world I
could tell. I've gone crazy."
"I thought you looked as though you'd been seeing spooks,"
Wilmore murmured sympathetically.
"I have seen a spook," Francis rejoined, with almost passionate
seriousness, "a spook who lifted an invisible curtain with
invisible fingers, and pointed to such a drama of horrors as De
Quincey, Poe and Sue combined could never have imagined. Oliver
Hilditch was guilty, Andrew. He murdered the man Jordan--murdered
him in cold blood."
"I'm not surprised to hear that," was the somewhat puzzled reply.
"He was guilty, Andrew, not only of the murder of this man, his
partner, but of innumerable other crimes and brutalities,"
Francis went on. "He is a fiend in human form, if ever there was
one, and I have set him loose once more to prey upon Society. I
am morally responsible for his next robbery, his next murder, the
continued purgatory of those forced to associate with him."
"You're dotty, Francis," his friend declared shortly.
"I told you I was crazy," was the desperate reply. "So would you
be if you'd sat opposite that woman for half-an-hour, and heard
her story.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25