“What do you mean?” said Learmont.
“I’ll do it—I’ll do it, I tell you.”
“Do what?”
“Do what? Come, that’s good of you. You know what. All I mean to say is, that if somebody else is to do it, why I am sure nobody—no, that isn’t it either. How very ex—ex—extraordinary!”
“Idiot!” exclaimed Learmont, striding away; but the man called after him, and his voice echoed through the deserted street, as he said,—
“Don’t be—be—offended. I’ll do it, I tell you. No, no—nonsense, now, I know you—mind I—know you: it’s only a mur—murder! Ah! ah!”
Learmont paused in astonishment, not altogether unmingled with dismay, at these words and he was by the man’s side again in a moment.
“You know me?“ he said.
“Yes, yes, I believe you,” replied, the man. “I’ll do it.”
“What can this mean?” thought Learmont; then he said, aloud,—