father wants me to draw a paper on which his signature should be
attested. If I am not asking too much, would you mind going back to the
druggist for the notary whose sign I saw there?"

Cassy turned from her father. "A paper? What paper?"

Bravely Jones lied. "A will."

Cassy looked from one to the other. "The poor dear often has these
attacks. He will be better soon--now that he knows. Won't you, daddy?"

Angelo Cara's eyes had in them an expression infinitely tender, equally
vacant. It was as though, in thinking of her, he was thinking too of
something else. Though, as Jones afterward decided, he probably was not
thinking at all.

Cassy exclaimed at him. "Besides, what have you--except me?"

"Everybody has to make a will," Jones, lying again, put in. "There has
been a new law passed. The eternal revenue collector requires it."

Cassy smoothed the rug, put the handkerchief on the table, opened a
drawer, got out some paper, a pen, a bottle of ink.

In a moment she had gone.

Jones seated himself at the table. "Forgive me for asking, but may I
assume that you believe in God, a life hereafter and in the rewards and
punishments which, we are told, await us?"

The musician closed his eyes.

"Thank you," said Jones, who began to write:

I, Angelo Cara, being in full possession of my senses and conscious
of the immanence of death, do solemnly swear to the truth of this
my dying declaration, which, I also solemnly swear, is made by me
without any collusion with Keith Lennox. First; I firmly believe in
God, in a life hereafter, and in future rewards and punishments.
Second; I alone am guilty of the murder of Montagu Paliser, Jr.,
whom I killed without aid or accomplices and without the privity or
knowledge of any other person.

Jones, wishing that in his law-school days he had crammed less and
studied more, looked up.

"I cannot compliment you on your pen, Mr. Cara. But then, pen and ink
always seem so emphatic. Personally, I prefer a pencil. Writing with a
pencil is like talking in a whisper."

It was in an effort to deodorise the atmosphere, charged with the
ghastly, that he said it. The declarant did not appear to notice. His
sunken eyes had been closed. Widely they opened.

"The other side!"

Jones blotted the declaration. "The other side cannot be very different
from this side. Not that part of it at least which people, such as you
and I, first visit. A bit far