foresee.

"Morley's theft and clamour for money from Miss Fulton, Withers'
jealousy, and my own extra precaution of appearing with beard and gold
tooth in the Brevord Hotel, so as to shift suspicion to a mysterious
'unknown' in case of necessity; all these things left too many clues,
presented an embarrassment of riches.

"If I had known of them in advance, either Morley or Withers would have
paid the penalty for the crime. The negro would never have received my
attention.

"I have no game leg, never have had. The brace made it easy for me to
transform myself into an agile, powerful man in my 'private' work.

"I have no tuberculosis, never have had. I have a normally flat chest.
Sluggish veins and capillaries in my face, caused by my having
suffered pathological blushing for ten years, cause a permanent flush
in my cheeks.

"That was enough to fool the physicians. Besides, when the Galenites
have once diagnosed your purse favourably, your disease is what you
please.

"I have said my first great mistake was losing my temper with Enid
Withers.

"My second was my laughter in the cab the night Braceway and I
questioned Morley. I knew he was holding back something, but I never
dreamed it was his knowledge of my having done the murder.

"That laugh was suicidal, for it was the disarming of myself by myself.

"But for the albino discovery by Braceway, my conviction would have
been impossible. The case against Perry was too strong.

"Still, it is as well this way as another. I should never have served
the time for embezzlement. A free life is a fine thing. I suspect that
death, perhaps, is even finer."

He handed the last page to Braceway, leaned back in his chair, put up his
arms and yawned. The glance with which he swept the faces of those before
him was arrogant. It had a sinister audacity.

"The confession's complete," Braceway told Greenleaf, clipping his words
short. "Take him away. No--wait!" He pulled a pen from his pocket and
turned to the prisoner.

"Oh, the signature," Bristow said coolly. "I forgot that."

He took the typewritten pages roughly from Fulton, and in a bold, free
hand wrote at the bottom of each: "Thomas F. Splain."

"I'm ready," he announced, rising from his chair so that he jostled
Fulton unnecessarily.

The old man, his self-control broken at last, struck him with open hand
full in the face. His fingers lef