I took her in my arms to the nearest bench. I listened for her heart-beats. They were still. I removed the Connemara cloak and veil. I had some difficulty, but at last managed to place her in an upright position on the bench. Then I folded her hands in her lap, and as I could not make her parasol stay on her knee, I left it where it fell on the ground before her. I kissed her lips, still warm and soft, and closing her eyes, pulled her hat down so it would prevent their opening. Taking the wrap and veil and putting them and the sandbag in the valise I drove back to the stable. I returned to my rooms and spent the remainder of the night in destroying all the clothing which belonged to her. Early in the morning, just about daybreak, I went quietly out and to the Gilsey House, where I got a room and went to bed. I slept. It was afternoon when I awoke, and while eating my breakfast I read in the first edition of an evening paper an account of your finding Lucille’s body in Central Park. In the smaller envelope I enclose a photograph of Lucille taken before her hair was bleached. You will doubtless recognize it. I also inclose the letter she wrote to her mother. You can understand now why I was frightened at the sight of Maggie Williams’s tears; why I was horrified when I met in the Hoffman House the man who was suspected of being guilty of my crime. My guilty fears prevented my giving you my name, and when you came to my apartment, seeking Lucille, I knew that my hour had come. I might have given you a fight and warded off the end for a while. But what use. If the proof was not conclusive enough to hang me, it was enough to imprison me, for the waiters, my servant and the livery-man could have made out a case of circumstantial evidence. I prefer death. It is morning. The morning of the day which was to have been my wedding day. Oh God, I had some wild hope when I began this confession. It has gone now. This is all. If you have any charity in your soul, spare me all you can. TOLMAN BIKE. NORTH WASHINGTON SQUARE, _June Seventh, 18--_. CHAPTER XVII. SUNLIGHT THROUGH THE CLOUDS. Richard could hardly dress quickly enough after he finished Tolman Bike’s letter. The indolent young man had never been seen in such frantic haste. The elevator seemed to him to creep. Rushing out to the street, he jumped into the first cab, telling the driver to make the best possible speed to Fifth Avenue. With a sad, penitent face, Penelope Howard was impatiently awaiting her handsome lover in her own little room, her abject apologies all cut and dried for use. But he gave her no time. “Penelope, the mystery is solved!” he yelled, and catching her in his strong arms, he held her so close to his heart that she gasped for breath.