“The plan was for Officer Johnson to fall asleep on the cars, and then for Carlos Conrad to make sure of his not awakening by the application of chloroform. The chloroformwas in the package that had been placed in his pocket. There was also a pair of steel cutting-nippers, with which he was to free himself, he being fastened to the officer by handcuffs. A note accompanied the package, directing him how to go to work.It is supposed that he profited by the opportunity thus offered him, for when Officer Johnson reached Hillsdale his prisoner was gone, and has never been heard of since.”
“Yes?” gasped Karl, in a cold sweat of apprehension.
His agitation did not permit him to observe the excitement under which Kate Heath was laboring. Her face was suffused with a crimson blush, and her eyes glittered brilliantly.
“Would you like to know who this detective was?” she whispered.
“Do you know?”
“Yes, I know. He is by your side now.”
“WHAT! You do not mean to say—it cannot be—it is impossible that it was you!”
“It is not impossible; it is true. It was I.”
In a wild wonder of frenzy Karl, who had risen to his feet, grasped the edge of the piano so tightly that every drop of blood was forced back from his fingers. An awful look was on his face, for he was seized with a conviction the realization of which he shrank from. In a last despairing effort to maintain his assumed character, he asked:
“Vy do you tell me of dis, young lady?”