human nature in
the lump is neither all saint nor all devil; that a man may be a second
father to you for years, and then turn and hold your head under water
until you drown when he is fighting for himself. It had been a trap,
deliberately set and baited with Agatha. I remembered now that she had
not spoken loud enough to be overheard; while I, with my back to the
open window, had talked in ordinary tones. Fitch and Withers had heard
me say that the investigating committee would find nothing against Abel
Geddis, and they had naturally taken it as a confession of my own guilt.

I remember that I went quite methodically about putting things away
while Runnels waited, though every move was dumbly mechanical.
Something seemed to have died inside of me, and I suppose the
psychologists would say that it was the subconscious Bert Weyburn who
put the books in the vault, locked the iron door, set the high desk in
order, and turned off all the lights save the one we always left turned
on in front of the vault.

Afterward, when we were in the street together, and Runnels was walking
me around the square to the police station, the dead thing inside of me
came alive. It had gone to sleep a pretty decent young fellow, with a
soft spot in his heart for his fellow men, and a boy's belief in the
ultimate goodness of all women. It awoke a raging devil. It was all I
could do to keep from throttling unsuspecting John Runnels as we
tramped along side by side. I could have done it. I had inherited my
father's well-knit frame and serviceable muscles, and all through my
office experience I had kept myself fit with long walks and a few bits
of home-made gymnastic apparatus in my room at Mrs. Thompson's. And
the new-born devil was ready with the suggestion.

I have been glad many times since that old John never knew; glad that
the frenzied curses that came boiling up out of that inner hell were
wordless. I contrived to hold in while Runnels was hurrying me through
the station office and past the sleepy sergeant at the desk. But when
the cell door had opened and closed for me, and old John's heavy
footsteps were no longer echoing in the iron-floored corridor, the
newly hatched devil broke loose and I made a pretty bad night of it.

II

The Searing Touch

Out of the first twenty-four hours, when my little raft of
respectability and good report was going to pieces under me, I have
brought one heart-mellowing recollection.