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Inspector.

"I may never be tried," he answered. "You needn't look
startled. It isn't suicide I am thinking of. Are you a
Doctor?" He turned his fierce dark eyes upon me as he asked
this last question.

"Yes; I am," I answered.

"Then put your hand here," he said, with a smile, motioning
with his manacled wrists towards his chest.

I did so; and became at once conscious of an extraordinary
throbbing and commotion which was going on inside. The walls
of his chest seemed to thrill and quiver as a frail building
would do inside when some powerful engine was at work. In
the silence of the room I could hear a dull humming and
buzzing noise which proceeded from the same source.

"Why," I cried, "you have an aortic aneurism!"

"That's what they call it," he said, placidly. "I went to a
Doctor last week about it, and he told me that it is bound to
burst before many days passed. It has been getting worse for
years. I got it from over-exposure and under-feeding among
the Salt Lake Mountains. I've done my work now, and I don't
care how soon I go, but I should like to leave some account
of the business behind me. I don't want to be remembered as
a common cut-throat."

The Inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussion
as to the advisability of allowing him to tell his story.

"Do you consider, Doctor, that there is immediate danger?"
the former asked, {24}

"Most certainly there is," I answered.

"In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests
of justice, to take his statement," said the Inspector.
"You are at liberty, sir, to give your account, which I again
warn you will be taken down."

"I'll sit down, with your leave," the prisoner said, suiting
the action to the word. "This aneurism of mine makes me
easily tired, and the tussle we had half an hour ago has not
mended matters. I'm on the brink of the grave, and I am not
likely to lie to you. Every word I say is the absolute truth,
and how you use it is a matter of no consequence to me."

With these words, Jefferson Hope leaned back in his chair and
began the following remarkable statement. He spoke in a calm
and methodical manner, as though the events which he narrated
were commonplace enough. I can vouch for the accuracy of the
subjoined account, for I have had access to Lestrade's note-book,
in which the prisoner's words were taken down exactly as they
were uttered.

"It don't much matter to you why I hated these men," he said;
"it's enough that they were guilty of the death of two human
beings -- a father and a daughter -- and that they had,
therefore, forfeited their own lives. After the lapse of
time that has passed since their crime, it was impossible for
me to secure a conviction against them in any court. I knew
of their guilt though, and I determined that I should be
judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one. You'd have
done the same, if you have any manhood in you, if you had

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