BOOK THE FOURTH
I
A warder came round the edge of the pit with his arms extended as the executioner, reaching out his hand, steadied the quivering rope. The prison doctor looked down the pit.
"He's all right," he said vaguely.
The tremulous clergyman was the last to go; backing out of the death chamber he watched the warders close and lock the doors.
The body of Ronald Morelle settled its top hat firmly on its shapely head and looked down at the little parson. There were tears in that good man's eyes.
"He was not bad, he was not bad," he murmured shakily. "I wish he had repented the murder."
"There was nothing to repent," said Ronald quietly, "if repentance were possible, the murder was unnecessary."
His voice was strangely deep and rich. Hearing himself, he wondered.