The sight was disgusting, yet when I looked upon it, and realized that at least $20,000 would come to me after a little further trouble, I gazed on it as a very good investment which was about to mature.
The monetary possibilities of this work set me thinking, and yet I knew I had in this instance to work rapidly. I loosed the cords, raised the body, and carried it to the bath tub, where I sought to freeze it hard enough for another day’s transportation.
There, in the twinkling light of a solitary gas jet, lay all that was mortal of—I knew not whom.
I claimed him as my own, and as I studied the now rigid form, strange questions arose and floated across my mind.
Who was he? What had he been? Was he a father, a lover, or brother? Was his absence from home noted? Was he cared for? Or, was he, like myself, a wayward son? Such thoughts troubled me but little before, and yet, as he lay there on his frozen bed, I, seemingly fascinated by the awful solemnity of death, did not seem able to tear myself away.
The gas flickered, a door slowly opened, and before I knew what had transpired, I was given the opportunity of looking straight into the eyes of the mysterious stranger—the Secret Service man—over the glittering barrel of a death-dealing weapon.
Not a word was spoken, but our eyes instinctively turned towards the object in the bath tub.
“Consider yourself under arrest, sir,” said the nocturnal intruder.
“I am at your service,” I replied, knowing that it would be useless to try conclusions with that man in such a small room.
While he was getting some iron bracelets out of his pocket, I mentally determined to have him in the street, glad enough to get away from me and my rooms.