further impelled to the crime
by love for Clara Newell, as was evident from his subsequent relations
with her. The judge put on the black cap. Tom Peters was duly hung by
the neck till he was dead.

[Illustration: "IDENTIFIED THE BODY."]

CHAPTER VII.

BRIEF RESUME OF THE CULPRIT'S CONFESSION.

When you all read this I shall be dead and laughing at you. I have been
hung for my own murder. I am Everard G. Roxdal. I am also Tom Peters. We
two were one. When I was a young man my moustache and beard wouldn't
come. I bought false ones to improve my appearance. One day, after I had
become manager of the City and Suburban Bank, I took off my beard and
moustache at home, and then the thought crossed my mind that nobody
would know me without them. I was another man. Instantly it flashed upon
me that if I ran away from the Bank, that other man could be left in
London, while the police were scouring the world for a non-existent
fugitive. But this was only the crude germ of the idea. Slowly I matured
my plan. The man who was going to be left in London must be known to a
circle of acquaintance beforehand. It would be easy enough to masquerade
in the evenings in my beardless condition, with other disguises of dress
and voice. But this was not brilliant enough. I conceived the idea of
living with him. It was Box and Cox reversed. We shared rooms at Mrs.
Seacon's. It was a great strain, but it was only for a few weeks. I had
trick clothes in my bedroom like those of quick-change artistes; in a
moment I could pass from Roxdal to Peters and from Peters to Roxdal.
Polly had to clean two pairs of boots a morning, cook two dinners, &c.,
&c. She and Mrs. Seacon saw one or the other of us every moment; it
never dawned upon them they never saw us _both together_. At meals I
would not be interrupted, ate off two plates, and conversed with my
friend in loud tones. At other times we dined at different hours. On
Sundays he was supposed to be asleep when I was in church. There is no
landlady in the world to whom the idea would have occurred that one man
was troubling himself to be two (and to pay for two, including washing).
I worked up the idea of Roxdal's flight, asked Polly to go with me,
manufactured that feminine letter that arrived on the morning of my
disappearance. As Tom Peters I mixed with a journalistic set. I had
another room where I kept the gold and notes till I mistakenly thought
the thing had blown over. Unfortunately, re