A silence ensued which, like the darkness of Egypt, could be felt; then a great and terrible cry rang through the room, and a man’s form, rushing from I knew not where, shot by me and fell at Mr. Gryce’s feet shrieking out:
“It is a lie! a lie! Mary Leavenworth is innocent as a babe unborn. I am the murderer of Mr. Leavenworth. I! I! I!”
It was Trueman Harwell.
XXXVII. CULMINATION
“Saint seducing gold.”
Romeo and Juliet.
“When our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.”
Macbeth.
I never saw such a look of mortal triumph on the face of a man as that which crossed the countenance of the detective.