sleep! And
rushing forward again, he called out: "Larry!" Then, with a gasp he went
towards the bed. "Larry!" No answer! No movement! Seizing his brother's
shoulder, he shook it violently. It felt cold. They were lying in each
other's arms, breast to breast, lips to lips, their faces white in the
light shining above the dressing-table. And such a shudder shook Keith
that he had to grasp the brass rail above their heads. Then he bent
down, and wetting his finger, placed it close to their joined lips. No
two could ever swoon so utterly as that; not even a drunken sleep could
be so fast. His wet finger felt not the faintest stir of air, nor was
there any movement in the pulses of their hands. No breath! No life! The
eyes of the girl were closed. How strangely innocent she looked! Larry's
open eyes seemed to be gazing at her shut eyes; but Keith saw that they
were sightless. With a sort of sob he drew down the lids. Then, by
an impulse that he could never have explained, he laid a hand on his
brother's head, and a hand on the girl's fair hair. The clothes had
fallen down a little from her bare shoulder; he pulled them up, as if
to keep her warm, and caught the glint of metal; a tiny gilt crucifix
no longer than a thumbnail, on a thread of steel chain, had slipped down
from her breast into the hollow of the arm which lay round Larry's neck.
Keith buried it beneath the clothes and noticed an envelope pinned to
the coverlet; bending down, he read: "Please give this at once to the
police.--LAURENCE DARRANT." He thrust it into his pocket. Like
elastic stretched beyond its uttermost, his reason, will, faculties
of calculation and resolve snapped to within him. He thought with
incredible swiftness: 'I must know nothing of this. I must go!' And,
almost before he knew that he had moved, he was out again in the street.

He could never have told of what he thought while he was walking home.
He did not really come to himself till he was in his study. There, with
a trembling hand, he poured himself out whisky and drank it off. If he
had not chanced to go there, the charwoman would have found them when
she came in the morning, and given that envelope to the police! He took
it out. He had a right--a right to know what was in it! He broke it
open.

"I, Laurence Darrant, about to die by my own hand, declare that this
is a solemn and true confession. I committed what is known as the Glove
Lane Murder on the night of November the 27th last