rrection,
and terrific right-hander electrified the garrulous Karl, who is
tireless in praise of Oswald's prowess.

Though thankful for their narrow escape, Oswald feels no elation. At
least one human being suddenly had been sent by him before his Maker,
and another through his act is about to cross the dark river. His
conscience is clear, but why was he not spared this sad notoriety?

From the wounded man's features, it was believed that he came from Spain
or Mexico. His rambling, delirious utterances were a jargon of mixed
tongues. He lived for a week at the camp, but never gave any clew to his
identity.

Oswald was the most frequent watcher at the cot of the dying man,
anticipating every want, appearing to thereby seek atonement for the
fatal shot.

In the last hour Oswald borrowed from one of the party a crucifix.
Holding this before the glazing eye of the conscious bandit, he gently
lifts the right arm, placing the emblem within the hand which is then
laid across the breast.

With a smile, clasping this sacred symbol, the outlaw passes into the
Beyond.

There were no papers on the three dead men giving any clew. They were
buried about one mile from camp.

In another week the survey party is ready to break camp for return
journey.

Accompanied by Karl Ludwig, Oswald visits the graves of the highwaymen
and places thereon bunches of wild flowers gathered from slope of the
Himalayas. Karl laughs at this whim of the Englishman.

"Vot sendimendals! Bud id vill nod hurdt you, und der flowers vitter any
vay."

Karl's arm was "in evidence."

Both returned to camp, and soon all were on the road for Calcutta.

CHAPTER XI

PAUL'S BEWILDERMENT

Pondering over the strange events of the evening, Paul Lanier lay awake
all night after return from his visit with Agnes Randall. Longer he
thought, deeper became the mystery. He mutters: "Not one weird
circumstance alone, but such grouping of ghostly coincidents! Being
ushered into the private room of Sir Charles was explained by Agnes, but
why that fitful glare of lights? How came that copy of _London Press_,
with underscored reference to the Thames murders, in possession of Sir
Charles Chesterton? All this might concur in time and place through odd
happenings, but that horrible tableau! The murdered Alice Webster, with
gory temple, long, damp tresses clinging to her form, in striking pose,
advancing and receding, mutely gesticulating such fearful prophetic