"I have come to give myself up," said Bowen, before the official could greet him.
"To give yourself up? What for?"
"For murder, I suppose."
"This is no time for joking, young man," said the sheriff, severely.
"Do I look like a humourist? Read that."
First incredulity, then horror, overspread the haggard face of the sheriff as he read and re-read the dispatch. He staggered back against the wall, putting up his arm to keep himself from falling.
"Bowen," he gasped: "Do you—do you mean to—to tell me—that this message came for me last night?"
"I do."
"And you—you suppressed it?"
"I did—and sent you a false one."