“Yes,” came the answer. “I’ve killed two men already, and I’ll kill more before I’ve done. They can only hang me once, no matter how many men I’ve killed.” And again there sounded that wild laughter, echoing in the hills so that it seemed to Shelley as if the whole atmosphere was quaking with crazy mirth.

Then Shelley saw the man’s head. He was slowly peering around the corner of the rock behind which he had contrived to hide himself. Shelley drew his automatic, took quick aim, and fired. He saw a piece of rock close by the man’s head detach itself from the bulk of the granite. But the head was rapidly withdrawn.

“You’ll have to shoot better than that, Mr. Detective,” said the man, but Shelley felt that there was a little uncertainty in his tone now. No longer was there any of that laughter in his voice. It betrayed anxiety and fear.

Then the end came—it came far more quickly than Shelley had anticipated. He was watching the man carefully—or rather, he was watching the rock behind which the man was still hiding. Suddenly Wallace emerged. His face was deathly pale, and his beard stood out very black against the clear whiteness of his skin.

“Come on, damn you!” he shouted, waving a revolver around his head, and walking backwards away from the rock. “Come on and fight! If you can hit me, I’ll give in. If I can hit you, you’ll have to let me go free. How’s that for a bargain, my friend?”

Shelley replied: “A detective makes no bargain with a criminal, Wallace. You must give yourself up. Throw away that revolver, and come over here.”

“Not me,” said the man with a crafty grin. “You’re afraid of me, that’s what it is. You know what a good shot I am.”

Suddenly Shelley sprang out from his shelter, as he saw what was happening. The man raised his revolver, taking a further step backward to prepare his aim, and…Shelley dashed towards him, but too late.

When he reached the spot where Wallace had been standing, he saw that the man’s body was bouncing over and over down the precipitous slope on the very edge of which he had been standing. As he watched, Shelley perceived it fall with a resounding splash into the waters of the reservoir far below.

“So,” said Shelley, “may perish all bad men.”

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIII

Some Documents

1. Extract from Report of Inspector Shelley to the
Chief Commissioner of Police at New Scotland Yard.