and obtained from them details of what had happened. A woman's
body had been found a few hours before, shockingly mutilated, on Water
Street, one of the dark ways in the swarming region along the river
front. It had been found at about two o'clock in the morning by some
printers from the office of the _Courier des Etats Unis_, who, in coming
from their work, had heard cries of distress and hurried to the rescue.
As they drew near they saw a man spring away from something huddled on
the sidewalk, and plunge into the shadows of the night, running from
them at full speed.

Suspecting at once that here was the mysterious assassin so long vainly
sought for many similar crimes, they dashed after the fleeing man, who
darted right and left through the maze of dark streets, giving out
little cries like a squirrel as he ran. Seeing that they were losing
ground, one of the printers fired at the fleeing shadow, his shot being
followed by a scream of pain, and hurrying up they found a man writhing
on the ground. The man was Richard Burwell.

The news that my sad-faced friend had been implicated in such a
revolting occurrence shocked me inexpressibly, and I was greatly
relieved the next day to learn from the papers that a most unfortunate
mistake had been made. The evidence given before the coroner's jury was
such as to abundantly exonerate Burwell from all shadow of guilt. The
man's own testimony, taken at his bedside, was in itself almost
conclusive in his favour. When asked to explain his presence so late at
night in such a part of the city, Burwell stated that he had spent the
evening at the Florence Mission, where he had made an address to some
unfortunates gathered there, and that later he had gone with a young
missionary worker to visit a woman living on Frankfort Street, who was
dying of consumption. This statement was borne out by the missionary
worker himself, who testified that Burwell had been most tender in his
ministrations to the poor woman and had not left her until death had
relieved her sufferings.

Another point which made it plain that the printers had mistaken their
man in the darkness, was the statement made by all of them that, as they
came running up, they had overheard some words spoken by the murderer,
and that these words were in their own language, French. Now it was
shown conclusively that Burwell did not know the French language, that
indeed he had not even an elementary knowledge of it.

Another poi