it should
have been.

"You will think me crazy, I presume. But I am Old Crompton. It was my
hand that felled the unfortunate young man in his laboratory out there
in West Laketon twelve years ago to-night. It was his marvelous
invention that transformed the old hermit into the apparently young man
you see before you. But I swear that I am none other than Larry Crompton
and that I killed young Forsythe. I am ready to pay the penalty. I can
bear the flagellation of my own conscience no longer."

* * * * *

The visitor's voice had risen to the point of hysteria. But his listener
remained calm and unmoved.

"Now just let me get this straight," he said quietly. "Do I understand
that you claim to be Old Crompton, rejuvenated in some mysterious
manner, and that you killed Tom Forsythe on that night twelve years ago?
Do I understand that you wish now to go to trial for that crime and to
pay the penalty?"

"Yes! Yes! And the sooner the better. I can stand it no longer. I am the
most miserable man in the world!"

"Hm-m--hm-m," muttered the judge, "this is strange." He spoke soothingly
to his visitor. "Do not upset yourself, I beg of you. I will take care
of this thing for you, never fear. Just take a seat, Mister--er--"

"You may call me Voight for the present," said the stranger, in a more
composed tone of voice, "George Voight. That is the name I have been
using since the mur--since that fatal night."

"Very well, Mr. Voight," replied the counsellor with an air of the
greatest solicitude, "please have a seat now, while I make a telephone
call."

And George Voight slipped into a stiff-backed chair with a sigh of
relief. For he knew the judge from the old days and he was now certain
that his case would be disposed of very quickly.

With the telephone receiver pressed to his ear, Culkin repeated a
number. The stranger listened intently during the ensuing silence. Then
there came a muffled "hello" sounding in impatient response to the call.

"Hello, Alton," spoke the attorney, "this is Asa speaking. A stranger
has just stepped into my office and he claims to be Old Crompton.
Remember the hermit across the road from your son's old laboratory?
Well, this man, who bears no resemblance whatever to the old man he
claims to be and who seems to be less than half the age of Tom's old
neighbor, says that he killed Tom on that night we remember so well."

* * * * *