And he knew, without any explanation, that the whole affair would probably be served up the next day in the cheaper newspapers as a "sensational" crime, so worded as to lay all the blame on Tom o' the Gleam, and to exonerate the act, and deplore the violent death of the "lordly" brute who, out of his selfish and wicked recklessness, had snatched away the life of an only child from its father without care or compunction.

But it was the fearful swiftness of the catastrophe that affected Helmsley most,--that, and what seemed to him, the needless cruelty of fate.

Only last night he had seen Tom o' the Gleam for the first time--only last night he had admired the physical symmetry and grace of the man,--his handsome head, his rich voice, and the curious refinement, suggestive of some past culture and education, which gave such a charm to his manner,--only last night he had experienced that little proof of human sympathy and kindliness which had shown itself in the gift of the few coins which Tom had collected and placed on his pillow,--only last night he had been touched by the herculean fellow's tenderness for his little "Kiddie,"-- and now,--within the space of twenty-four hours, both father and child had gone out of life at a rush as fierce and relentless as the speed of the motor-car which had crushed a world of happiness under its merciless wheels.

Was it right--was it just that such things should be?
Could one believe in the goodness of God, in such a world of wanton wickedness?
Moving along in a blind haze of bewilderment, Helmsley's thoughts were all disordered and his mind in a whirl,--what consciousness he had left to him was centred in an effort to get away--away!--far away from the scene of murder and death,--away from the scent and trail of blood which seemed to infect and poison the very air! It was a calm and lovely night.

The moon rode high, and there was a soft wind blowing in from the sea.