“‘If you move a muscle you are a dead man, friend McAdoo,’ he said, softly. ‘I fear that you are no better than a dead man as it is—but I should advise you not to bring the matter to a climax until all of the evidence is in.’
“We waited in silence; even the clock had stopped its ticking; the journal was lying on the table. Lynch, I remember, was twisting the ends of his wiry mustache with his free hand. Perhaps the tension had cleared my head; perhaps the drugs, taken, as usual, four hours before the paroxysm was due, were beginning to act; at any rate, my mind was active—abnormally so.
“The crisis had passed with McAdoo; he was no longer held by shock, surprise, rage, the psychic force of the man in front of him, or the hypnotizing force of the shining weapon. The little bullet in the weapon was all that held him now—and I do not think that it would have held him long—in that position, for he had the pluck of a pig, and his eyes were beginning to dance again, when there was a rustle in the doorway and a white-clad figure paused on the threshold.
“I looked at her face—and the sight of it chilled the fever in my blood and whipped the mist of delirium from my brain. When I had seen her before it had been the face of a beautiful child—a frightened, wretched child—but now it was different, matured. Lynch saw it, too—just the swiftest glance, and then his keen eyes flew back to the man, who was only awaiting his opportunity. Afterwards I learned that Lynch possessed the science of the sign language practiced by these folk; he possessed also the science of developing upon his brain an instantaneous photograph taken with the eyes, and this science made the first unnecessary, for you see, Doctor, the girl was looking at her father’s murderer—and who knows what beside! Ah, how true it is, as you said a little while ago, that the horror reflected from the eyes of another is far more dreadful than the thing itself!
“Lynch made a movement of dismissal with his hand—a judicial gesture which told me that it was over; the verdict rendered; sentence pronounced. But I was puzzled for the next—eh—step.
“‘Take her back,’ I said to the servant.
“‘Dr. Leyden,’ said Lynch, ‘do you feel that you are in possession of your faculties?’ My head was roaring like a cataract, my skin like ice, and my bones were smouldering coals, but my brain was clear—for the moment—too clear.
“‘Quite,’ I answered—‘in so far as this man is concerned.’
“‘What is your opinion? What course would you advise in the matter?’
“‘I would advise shooting him,’ said I. ‘He requires to be shot, and I do not think that we should waste much time about it. If you do not care to shoot him, I will do so myself,’ I added. Personally, his death was necessary to our safety in a way, yet that did not occur to me. I was thinking of the diary, the little blue pillow and the deaf-mute girl.