"At last the end came. He had got me into a corner. Escape was impossible. My back was against the wall, and in front of me towered the wretch, his hands on my shoulders, his poisoned breath blowing into my face. Now, remember, before you blame me for what followed, that I was perfectly desperate. As I glanced frantically around, hoping against hope to find some way out of my awful situation, my eyes fell upon a hat-pin, which lay on a table by my side, well within reach of my right hand. It was sticking in my hat, which I had carelessly thrown down there when I came in from dinner a few hours before. It may be that its design, which was that of a dagger, suggested my putting it to the use I did. I don't know. At any rate, I seized it, and managed to get it in between me and my assailant, with its sharp point pressing against his chest. By this time I had become convinced that the man was simply intoxicated, and, hoping to frighten him, I cried: 'Let me go. If you don't, I will kill you.' Yes, I said that; I acknowledge it. But I had no real intention of doing such a thing. I didn't even dream that I held in my hand a weapon. What happened then I don't quite know. Whether he tripped over something, or whether he was so drunk that he lost his balance, I can't tell. At all events, he fell heavily against me. If I had not been braced against the wall he certainly would have knocked me down. As it was, I was stunned for a minute. Recovering myself, I pushed him from me with all my strength. He reeled back, staggered a few steps, and then, to my surprise, fell flat upon the floor. As I stood staring at him, too frightened still to take advantage of this opportunity to escape, I heard a queer rattling in his throat. What could be the matter, I wondered, and what was that sticking out of his shirt, right over his heart? Could it be my hat-pin? I looked down at my hands; they were empty. Slowly the truth dawned upon me. I rushed to his side, looked into his glazing eyes, saw the purple fade from his face, and a greenish hue creep into its place. As the full horror of my position was borne in upon me, I thought I should go mad. I seized the pin and tried to drag it out, actuated by an unreasoning hope that if I could only extract it from the wound the man might even yet revive. But my hands must have been paralysed with fear, for, although I tugged and tugged, I failed to move it. At last, after an especially violent effort, I succeeded in pulling it out, but unfortunately in doing so the head broke off. I peered again at the man. Still no sign of life, but I could not, would not believe the worst. Overcoming my horror of the fellow, I bent down and shook his arm. I shall never forget the sensation it gave me to touch him. I could doubt the awful truth no longer: the man was dead, and I had killed him. Then for a time I lost consciousness. Unfortunately I am young and strong, and soon revived. When I did so I