Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances, as if they thoughtthis proposition rather a bold one; but Holmes at once tookthe prisoner at his word, and loosened the towel which we hadbound round his ancles. He rose and stretched his legs, as thoughto assure himself that they were free once more. I rememberthat I thought to myself, as I eyed him, that I had seldom seen amore powerfully built man; and his dark, sunburned face bore anexpression of determination and energy which was as formidableas his personal strength.
“If there’s a vacant place for a chief of the police, I reckon youare the man for it,” he said, gazing with undisguised admiration atmy fellow-lodger. “The way you kept on my trail was a caution.”
“You had better come with me,” said Holmes to the twodetectives.
“I can drive you,” said Lestrade.
“Good! and Gregson can come inside with me. You too, Doctor,you have taken an interest in the case, and may as well stick to us.”
I assented gladly, and we all descended together. Our prisonermade no attempt at escape, but stepped calmly into the cab whichhad been his, and we followed him. Lestrade mounted the box,whipped up the horse, and brought us in a very short time to ourdestination. We were ushered into a small chamber, where a policeInspector noted down our prisoner’s name and the names of themen with whose murder he had been charged. The official wasa white-faced, unemotional man, who went through his dutiesin a dull, mechanical way. “The prisoner will be put before themagistrates in the course of the week,” he said; “in the mean time,Mr. Jefferson Hope, have you anything that you wish to say? Imust warn you that your words will be taken down, and may beused against you.”
“I’ve got a good deal to say,” our prisoner said slowly. “I want totell you gentlemen all about it.”
“Hadn’t you better reserve that for your trial?” asked the Inspector.
“I may never be tried,” he answered. “You needn’t look startled.
It isn’t suicide I am thinking of. Are you a Doctor?” He turned hisfierce dark eyes upon me as he asked this last question.
“Yes, I am,” I answered.
“Then put your hand here,” he said, with a smile, motioningwith his manacled wrists towards his chest.
I did so; and became at once conscious of an extraordinarythrobbing and commotion which was going on inside. The wallsof his chest seemed to thrill and quiver as a frail building woulddo inside when some powerful engine was at work. In the silenceof the room I could hear a dull humming and buzzing noise whichproceeded from the same source.
“Why,” I cried, “you have an aortic aneurism!”
“That’s what they call it,” he said, placidly. “I went to a Doctorlast week about it, and he told me that it is bound to burst beforemany days passed. It has been getting worse for years. I got it fromoverexposure and under-feeding among the Salt Lake Mountains.
I’ve done my work now, and I don’t care how soon I go, but Ishould like to leave some account of the business behind me. Idon’t want to be remembered as a common cut-throat.”
The Inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussionas to the advisability of allowing him to tell his story.
“Do you consider, Doctor, that there is immediate danger?” theformer asked.
“Most certainly there is,” I answered.
“In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests of justice, totake his statement,” said the Inspector. “You are at liberty, sir, togive your account, which I again warn you will be taken down.”
“I’ll sit down, with your leave,” the prisoner said, suiting theaction to the word. “This aneurism of mine makes me easily tired,and the tussle we had half an hour ago has not mended matters. I’mon the brink of the grave, and I am not likely to lie to you. Everyword I say is the absolute truth, and how you use it is a matter ofno consequence to me.”
With these words, Jefferson Hope leaned back in his chair andbegan the following remarkable statement. He spoke in a calmand methodical manner, as though the events which he narratedwere commonplace enough. I can vouch for the accuracy of thesubjoined account, for I have had access to Lestrade’s notebook,in which the prisoner’s words were taken down exactly as theywere uttered.
“It don’t much matter to you why I hated these men,” he said;“it’s enough that they were guilty of the death of two humanbeings—a father and a daughter—and that they had, therefore,forfeited their own lives. After the lapse of time that has passedsince their crime, it was impossible for me to secure a convictionagainst them in any court. I knew of their guilt though, and Idetermined that I should be judge, jury, and executioner all rolledinto one. You’d have done the same, if you have any manhood inyou, if you had been in my place.
“That girl that I spoke of was to have married me twenty yearsago. She was forced into marrying that same Drebber, and brokeher heart over it. I took the marriage ring from her dead finger,and I vowed that his dying eyes should rest upon that very ring,and that his last thoughts should be of the crime for which hewas punished. I have carried it about with me, and have followedhim and his accomplice over two continents until I caught them.
They thought to tire me out, but they could not do it. If I die tomorrow,as is likely enough, I die knowing that my work in thisworld is done, and well done. They have perished, and by my hand.
There is nothing left for me to hope for, or to desire.
