"Probably not," it sneered. "I'll be glad to go too, but I can't go
until that manuscript is destroyed. As long as it exists there is
evidence of your having appropriated the work of another. Why, can't
you see that? Burn it!"
"I can't see my way clear in crime!" I retorted. "It is not in my
line."
Nevertheless, realizing the value of his advice, I thrust the pages
one by one into the blazing log fire, and watched them as they
flared and flamed and grew to ashes. As the last page disappeared in
the embers the demon vanished. I was alone, and throwing myself down
for a moment's reflection upon my couch, was soon lost in sleep.
It was noon when I again opened my eyes, and, ten minutes after I
awakened, your telegraphic summons reached me.
"Come down at once," was what you said, and I went; and then came
the terrible _denouement,_ and yet a _denouement_ which was pleasing
to me since it relieved my conscience. You handed me the envelope
containing the story.
"Did you send that?" was your question.
"I did--last night, or rather early this morning. I mailed it about
three o'clock," I replied.
"I demand an explanation of your conduct," said you.
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