“Your great kindness of heart needs no further exposition, sir--it is self-evident. I have no words sufficient to thank you. I greatly fear, however, that I am beyond human help. A matter of a few hours is the utmost respite from my fate that I can expect. None the less, I am deeply grateful to you for this breathing-space.” The stranger sighed again, and his countenance settled into a resigned melancholy. “You make me curious,” said Mr. Gilchrist. “Of course, I don’t wish to intrude----” The old gentleman raised his eyebrows and made a protesting movement with his hand. “In all probability, sir, you will soon be made acquainted with a garbled newspaper version of the calamity which has befallen me. Its dreadful nature is bound to flare into publicity. It is useless, therefore, for me to attempt to conceal it. If you care to hear the true version of a tragedy which every newsboy will be shouting to-morrow morning--a version stranger than the one counsel for defence and prosecution will adopt as a battle-ground for their wits--I will do my best to gratify your curiosity. I may say that it will be some comfort to me to know that one fellow human being--especially so kind-hearted a one as yourself--is acquainted with the real facts.” “My dear sir!” began Mr. Gilchrist. “Surely--you are overwrought--an accident--I cannot believe----” “I do not look like a murderer,” said the old gentleman, interrupting him, a pathetic little smile on his grave face. “Nevertheless I am one. It is the terrible truth, I assure you, sir. I am a murderer, a murderer trapped into crime by that chain of circumstances I spoke of. And I am a man that until to-day never wittingly took the life of any creature, however small.” “But--my dear sir!” Mr. Gilchrist half rose from his chair. His guest waved him back into it. “I am speaking the sober truth. You think that you are harbouring a madman. I am as sane as you. If you care to listen, I will relate the story, and when I have finished, if you desire to call in the local police, you are at liberty to do so. I give you my word that there will be no disturbance.” Mr. Gilchrist sat back in his chair, half-fascinated, half-frightened. “Go on,” he said briefly, not trusting himself to speak. “I must first request your patience whilst I relate a few circumstances which, however remote they may appear from the terrible fact that has, among other things, made me your guest, are nevertheless intimately connected with it.