He made no further remark, but groaned, and burying his face in the pillow, I believe he wept.
I was glad to get away, and felt relieved and seemed to breathe freer when I got on deck. It was not long after that conversation in the cabin of the tossing ship, that conscience-smitten Francis Fulton forced the lock of the door, and only partially clad, crept up the companion-way, and, with an agonizing wail of awful despair, plunged into the raging sea, and thus added to his many crimes the crime of self-s*******r.
It now remains for me to explain who Francis Fulton was, and how it came about that I journeyed to the West Indies to effect his arrest. The reader already knows the theory upon which I worked. I was sure that malice or revenge was at the bottom of the crime, and that the crimina
