He glared angrily at the figure on the floor.
Hans Holterman had deceived him!
He had gone to the trouble of killing a man for less than three shillings in coppers!
For this he had nearly lost his own life. From which it may be seen that it is unwise to place credence in words of those who have dwelt too long in the bush—alone.
The convict moved about the house searching and thinking as he went. Near the dead man’s bunk, on the packing case which had served him as a dressing-table, lay a razor. Petit put this in his pocket; but a second later an idea came to him, and, going out, he stooped down by the body, with the razor open in his hand, dabbling the blade.
The reason of this was not made apparent until may days later, when the body of Hans Holterman was found with a blood stained razor in its hand, and the coronial inquiry resulted in a verdict of suicide whilst of unsound mind.
Petit cold-bloodedly lit a match and found a candle-end, and surveyed the scene without a shudder.
The light danced up and down the walls, throwing fantastic shadows as the murderer set to work.
Having emptied the pence into his pocket, he replaced the tea-tin on the mantel-shelf, mended the broken stool, and removed all trace of the struggle.