I do not see any other way. I beg that there may be no
postmortem on our bodies. The stuff we have taken is some of that which
will be found on the dressing-table. Please bury us together.
"LAURENCE DARRANT.
"January the 28th, about ten o'clock p.m."
Full five minutes Keith stood with those sheets of paper in his hand,
while the clock ticked, the wind moaned a little in the trees outside,
the flames licked the logs with the quiet click and ruffle of their
intense far-away life down there on the hearth. Then he roused himself,
and sat down to read the whole again.
There it was, just as Larry had told it to him-nothing left out, very
clear; even to the addresses of people who could identify the girl as
having once been Walenn's wife or mistress. It would convince. Yes! It
would convince.
The sheets dropped from his hand. Very slowly he was grasping the
appalling fact that on the floor beside his chair lay the life or death
of yet another man; that by taking this confession he had taken into his
own hands the fate of the vagabond lying under sentence of death; that
he could not give him back his life without incurring the smirch of this
disgrace, without even endangering himself.
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