k of you."

It may be here objected that I ought not to have felt so sure as I did
of the woman's guilt, until I had got more evidence against her. The
knife might have been stolen from her, supposing she was the person
who had snatched it out of the engraver's hands, and might have been
afterward used by the thief to commit the murder. All very true. But I
never had a moment's doubt in my own mind, from the time when I read the
damnable line in the engraver's book.

I went back to the railway without any plan in my head. The train by
which I had proposed to follow her had left Waterbank. The next train
that arrived was for London. I took my place in it--still without any
plan in my head.

At Charing Cross a friend met me. He said, "You're looking miserably
ill. Come and have a drink."

I went with him. The liquor was what I really wanted; it strung me up,
and cleared my head. He went his way, and I went mine. In a little while
more, I determined what I would do.

In the first place, I decided to resign my situation in the police, from
a motive which will presently appear. In the second place, I took a bed
at a public-house. She would no doubt return to London, and she would go
to my lodgings to find out why I had broken my appointment. To bring to
justice the one woman whom I had dearly loved was too cruel a duty for
a poor creature like me. I preferred leaving the police force. On
the other hand, if she and I met before time had helped me to control
myself, I had a horrid fear that I might turn murderer next, and kill
her then and there. The wretch had not only all but misled me into
marrying her, but also into charging the innocent housemaid with being
concerned in the murder.

The same night I hit on a way of clearing up such doubts as still
harassed my mind. I wrote to the rector of Roth, informing him that
I was engaged to marry her, and asking if he would tell me (in
consideration of my position) what her former relations might have been
with the person named John Zebedee.

By return of post I got this reply:

"SIR--Under the circumstances, I think I am bound to tell you
confidentially what the friends and well-wishers of Priscilla have kept
secret, for her sake.

"Zebedee was in service in this neighborhood. I am sorry to say it, of a
man who has come to such a miserable end--but his behavior to Priscilla
proves him to have been a vicious and heartless wretch. They were
engaged--and, I add with ind