He told, with a gravity unusual in him, of the death of Lee, and the incidents which had led him to assume the dead man’s personality. When he had finished there was a pause. Overton smoked on without looking at him, until at last he observed: “Vickers--I was once counsel for a railroad that had a station of that name, I think.” “Vickers’s Crossing. It was called after my grandfather, Lemuel Vickers. The name is well known in the northern part of New York.” “But there is still one point not clear to me,” said Overton. “Why is it that you did not come home under the interesting and well-known name of Vickers?” “Is that really difficult for the legal mind to guess?” But Overton would not guess. “A desire for change?” he suggested; “an attraction to the name of Lee?” “The simple fact that I had committed a crime.” “Of which a jury acquitted you?” “I had not sufficient confidence in the jury to leave it to them.” “What! You ran away?” “I did.” “And what was the crime?” “I had killed a man.” Nothing could be calmer than Overton’s expression, but at this he raised his eyebrows. “Murder?” he said, “manslaughter? homicide? With what intent?” “With none. I did not mean to kill the fellow; I knocked him down in a good cause.” “A woman, of course.” “At the earnest entreaty of his wife, whom he was chasing round the room with a knife.” “And is it possible,” said Overton, “that the juries in the northern part of the State of New York are so unchivalrous as to convict a man who kills in such circumstances?” “So little did I suppose so,” returned Vickers, “that I gave myself up as soon as I found the man was dead.” “But later you regretted having done so?” “You bet I did. The lady in the case went on the stand and testified that my attack was unprovoked and murderous----” “These people were your friends?” “Well, the woman was.” “I understand. That made it more awkward.” “Oh, lots of things made it awkward. You see I had broken in a window when I heard her screams. Besides, every one wanted to know how I came to be passing along an unfrequented road at one o’clock in the morning. In short, I saw that there was only one thing for me to do, if I wanted to save my precious neck. I broke jail one night, and slipped over the Canadian border, and from there managed to get to Central America.” “You still had some friends left, I see,” said Overton with a smile. “I suppose it is for legal advice that you have come to me.” “No, you are wrong,” answered Vickers. “I have not finished my story. I came north with a real desire to settle down--with a real enthusiasm for a northern home. I thought I should like to jolly an old father, and a pretty cousin, for the rest of my life.” “How did you know she was pretty?” “Well, I wasn’t mistaken, was I? But what happened? Lee turned out to be a rotten bad lot. I have been very much disappointed in Bob Lee, Mr. Overton. He is not a pleasant fellow to impersonate, I can tell you.”