A stealthy, murderous light, almost red in its intensity, burned in the eyes which now sunk before his. An instant the foiled assassin stood surprised; then commenced a struggle between the two men. Dr. Seltzer made desperate efforts to hurl his antagonist into the torrent beneath; but, though frantic with rage and hate, his violent exertions did not effect their object. On the contrary, Mr. Burton, calm and self-possessed, despite an instant’s astonishment, pressed his adversary backward along the narrow path until they were both on safe ground, in the middle of a little grassy plateau, which they had lately traversed, where he held him, having disarmed him of his knife.
What had caused his momentary astonishment was the fact that Dr. Seltzer knew him and suspected his object, which truth he instantly comprehended, upon turning and reading the murderous eyes that met his. Now, as he held him, he remarked,
“Another stab in the back, George Thorley?”
“Well, and what did you come here for, you accursed New York detective?”
“I came to persuade you to turn State’s evidence.”
“What about?”—there was a slight change in the voice, which told, against his will, that the adventurer felt relieved.
“I want you to give your written and sworn testimony as to who it was hired you, for the sum of two thousand dollars, to murder Mr. Moreland, at Blankville, on the 17th of October, 1857.”
“Who said I murdered him? Humph! you must think I’m decidedly simple to be coaxed or frightened into committing myself.”
“We’ll not waste words, Thorley. I know you, all your history, all your bad deeds—or enough of them to hang you. I have a warrant for your arrest in my pocket, which I brought from the States with me. I could have brought an escort from Acapulco, and arrested you at once, without giving you any chance for explanation. But I have my own reasons for desiring to keep this matter quiet—one of which is that I do not wish any premature report to alarm your accomplice, man or woman, whichever it is, until I can put my hand on the right person.”
“What makes you think that I did it?”
“No matter what makes me think so—I don’t think, I know. I have the instrument with which you committed the act, with your initials on the handle. I have the letter you wrote to your accomplice, claiming your reward. In short, I’ve proof enough to convict you twice over. The only hope you have of any mercy from me is in at once doing all that I ask of you—which is to give a full written statement, over your real name, of all the circumstances which led to the murder.”
“I’m not such a fool as to tie the rope around my own neck.”
As he made this answer, he gave a powerful jerk to extricate himself from the unpleasant position in which he was held. Mr. Burton drew a revolver from his breast-pocket, remarking,
“I will not hold you, Thorley; but just as sure as you make an attempt to get away, I will shoot you. Supposing you succeeded in getting free from me—what good would that do you? Your prospects here would be ruined; for I should expose you to Don Miguel. You would have to flee from wife, country and fortune; all you would preserve would be your rascally life, which I do not propose, at present, to take.”
“A man’s life is his best possession.”
“A truth you would have done well to remember before you took away the life of another. I can’t talk to such a scoundrel as you, Thorley; I fairly ache to inflict upon you the punishment you deserve. It is for the sake of others, in whom I am interested, that I give you this one chance of mercy. Here is paper, pen and ink; sit down on that stone there, and write what I asked of you.”
“What security do you offer me against the consequences of criminating myself? I want you to promise I shall be none the worse off for it.”
“You are too fully in my power to demand promises of me. Yet this I will consent to, as I said before, for the sake of others—to let you go unprisoned by the warrant I hold against you, and never to put the officers of justice on your track. One thing, however, I must and shall do. I can not leave this Paradise, into which you have crept like the serpent, without warning Don Miguel what manner of creature he is trusting and sheltering.”
“Oh, don’t do that, Mr. Burton! He’ll turn me off on the world again, and I shall be exposed to the same temptations as ever—and here I was leading a better life—I was indeed—reformed, quite reformed and repentant.”
“So reformed and repentant, so very excellent, that you were only prevented, but now, from killing me and tumbling me into this convenient ravine, by my own prudence.”
“Everything was at stake, you know. I was desperate. You must forgive me. It would not be natural for me to submit to see all I had gained snatched away from me—my life periled. I recognized you within five minutes after sitting down to the supper-table last night.”
“I had no idea you had ever seen me,” said Mr. Burton, willing to hear how it was that this man knew him, when he had never met Thorley until yesterday.
“I was interested, once, in a forgery case in which you were employed to detect the criminals, by the examination of several handwritings which were given you. You accused a highly respectable fellow-citizen, to the astonishment of everybody, and convicted him, too. I, whom he had employed as an agent in some transactions, but who did not appear in any manner in the case, saw you in the courtroom once or twice. I accidentally found out that you were a secret agent of the detective police. When I saw you here, playing the scientific gentleman, my conscience was
