refused, whereupon the man picked
up a dagger from a stand near by and stabbed him to the heart.
Frightened at what he had done, he did not stay to rob the body, but
made his way through the house and out by the back door. Passing into
Murbrook Street, he saw a policeman coming toward him, but by stepping
into a doorway managed to avoid him. Since that time, up to the moment
of surrendering himself, he had been wandering about London, and it was
only when he found starvation staring him in the face that he determined
to give himself up. Having told his story, the man was about to be
searched prior to being conducted to a cell, when he drew from his
pocket a revolver and placed the muzzle to his forehead. Before the
bystanders could stop him he had pulled the trigger; there was a loud
report, and a moment later the wretched man fell dead at the officer's
feet. The divisional surgeon was immediately summoned, but on his
arrival found that life was extinct. Inquiries were at once made with a
view to ascertaining whether the story he had told had any foundation in
fact. We have since learned that the description he gave of himself was
a true one, that he had once been in Clausand's employ, and that on the
day preceding the murder he had openly asserted in a public-house in the
neighbourhood of Soho his intention of being revenged upon the dead man.

"The coroner has been informed, and an inquest will be held to-morrow
morning."

* * * * *

After I had read it, I stood for some moments looking at the paper in my
hand. Then I turned to Pharos, who was still seated on the block of
stone watching me intently. Since this miserable wretch had confessed to
the crime, it was plain that I had wronged him in supposing he had
committed it. A weight was undoubtedly lifted from my mind, but for some
reason or another the satisfaction I derived from this was by no means
as great as I had expected it would be. At the back of my mind there was
still a vague impression that I was being deceived, and, do what I
would, I could not rid myself of it.

"That, I think, should convince you, Mr. Forrester," said Pharos, rising
and coming toward me, "how very unwise it is ever to permit one's
feelings to outweigh one's judgment. You made up your mind that you
disliked me, and for the simple reason that I had the misfortune to lose
my way on that particular evening, and to reach your studio about the
same time that