He returned with it in his hand, and, kneeling beside the dead man on the floor, his back to Burton, untied it, took out a red wig and beard, and slipped them on to old Isaac's head and face.
"I wonder," he said grimly, as he stood up, "if you ever saw this man before ?" "My God--PERLEY!" With a wild cry, Burton was on his feet, straining forward like a man crazed.
"Yes," said Jimmie Dale, "Perley! Sort of an ironic justice in his end as far as you are concerned, isn't there?
I think we'll leave him like that--as Perley.

It will provide the police with an interesting little problem--which they will never solve, and--STEADY!" Burton was rocking on his feet, the tears were streaming down his face.
He lurched heavily--and Jimmie Dale caught him, and pushed him back into the chair again.
"I thought--I thought there was blood on my hands," said Burton brokenly; "that--that I had taken a man's life.

It was horrible, horrible! I've lived through three days that I thought would drive me mad, while I--I tried to do my work, and--and talk to people, just as if nothing had happened.

And every one that spoke to me seemed so carefree and happy, and I would have sold my soul to have changed places with them." He stared at the form on the floor, and shivered suddenly.

"It--it was like that I saw him last!" he whispered.