"Mrs. Marley was not her name. She was Maria Tisdale—my wife. Detective Hook, it was my hand that struck her down. I did it in anger, God forgive me, poor insane creature that she was. I saw her hovering about the Webster bank—I thought she had found in the street certain papers which I dropped, and——"
"And you killed her?"
"I did; I—ah! Take her off! take her off! There she is bending over me! Her hand is above my throat now!"
"Hush! hush!" whispered the detective. "There is no one here but ourselves.
"My God, the man is dying!" he exclaimed, as the eyes of Reuben Tisdale closed and the head rested more heavily on his arm.
"No—I—I—still live."
The words came faintly from the parted lips.
"Drag me to the wall—there—right—behind—you. Stop—them—they rob the—Lispenard bank—at—twelve—to-night. Callister—made plans—I—revenge—revenge—oh! God have mercy on my sinful soul!"
They were the last words of Reuben Tisdale on earth.
Even as they were uttered, dragged across the slimy floor of the cellar by the detective, he stretched forth his hand and pressed a groove in what appeared to be a wall of solid stone.