“So I have heard this morning, and that has, I fear, placed an obstacle in your way.”
“I found that he was murdered,” continued Albert “at an early hour this morning. Being anxious concerning her whom I loved I passed the house in which Gray resided, when I saw the door ajar. That excited my curiosity, and I entered from an impulse which I could not control.”
“He did not see me,” thought Learmont; “he suspects nothing.”
“I called aloud upon Ada,” continued Albert, “but no one answered me. Procuring then a light from a woman in the house, I proceeded to search it, and found Gray a mangled horrible corpse.”
Learmont drew a long breath as he said,
“I heard so much this morning from a casual visitor, and I was intending before now to take with me a warrant from the Secretary of State which would have been granted upon my applications to take Gray into custody, and offer the young girl, in whom you have made me feel a strange interest, an asylum under my own roof, until your arrival to-night.”
“You are very considerate, sir,” said Albert. “By the accidental rending of a cloak which I presume belonged to Jacob Gray, a packet of papers—”
Learmont uttered a loud cry, and rising, he stretched out his hands, saying, while his face was livid with apprehension,—
“You—you have them? The—the confession—this instant—on your life give it to me. You have not dared to read—you will take some wine—you will—this—this goblet will refresh you. The papers—give me the papers.”
He shook like an aspen leaf as he pushed the cup of wine he had drugged, in case he should wish to get rid of Albert, towards him, and his voice grew hoarse with anxiety as he continued to say,—