CHAPTER XXIII.
GIVING THE ALARM.
There are not many men who can commit a crime of violence without an inward shudder and a thrill of horror. Sharpley was not a professional murderer. He had never before taken life. His offences against law had been many, but none had stained his soul with blood till now.
He felt faint as he saw the disappearance of his young ward, sped by his own hand to a death so fearful.
"It is done and can't be undone," he muttered. "He will never know what hurt him. I am glad it's over. It was a dirty job, but I had to do it. Craven forced me to this. He must pay well for it."
"Shall I look over the cliff?" he asked himself.
Over the ledge.
He advanced a step, but drew back with a shudder.