stops short, but says nothing. A powerful bully, posing
as leader, steps on Oswald's foot, aiming a blow at his drooping
headgear. A terrific left-hander shoots out, encountering the jaw of our
swaggering tough, who strikes the resounding planks with little
ceremony. Two more rush at Oswald, when, dropping his satchel, both
stretch their lengths on the wharf from right and left hand blows dealt
almost together. Just then the bell sounds for departure, when a big
officer comes up, puffing with surplus fat and official importance.
Seeing three men stretched out, and learning that the odd-looking fellow
then hurrying on board is the cause, he brandishes his club, striking
Oswald on the shoulder, in pompous tones announcing his arrest. Oswald
remonstrates, and attempts to explain that he is not the aggressor, but
to all such, this swelling representative of the Crown's outraged
dignity turns a deaf ear.

Giving a rough push, the officer starts away with his prisoner.

Oswald has great respect for constituted authority, but conscious of
the complications which may result through delay, and smarting under the
uncalled-for arrogance of this guardian of the public peace, drops his
valise, and with two quick blows so completely paralyzes this uniformed
official, that he fails to respond until after the vessel is under way.

When on board Oswald discards his long duster and broad brim.

No one recognizes in his dignified air of indifference the personnel of
that drooping pedestrian who had electrified onlookers with such
skillful sledge-hammer blows, so disastrous to bully insolence and
official conceit.

Gradually Oswald's tense faculties relax, and an overwhelming reactive
despondency takes possession of his being.

The experiences of the last few days pass before his vision. Retrospect
is terrible. In this maze it avails not that he is guiltless of crime.
The circumstances affirm his criminality. Is he not a refugee from
justice?

Sitting alone upon the upper deck, he thus interrogates himself:

"Why not return, face my accusers, and know the worst? Why flee from the
specter of a crime committed by another? Are my hands stained with human
blood? Is not my soul blameless?"

Then in bitterness he says:

"Yes, return and be hung! Listen to adroitly narrated lies of
detectives, caring only for vindication of their theories of guilt!
Witness the heartless curiosity of vulgar crowds feasting on rumor and
depraved gossip