But while he fought to the last, Mr. Hale could not wash his hands of the blood with which they were dyed.  Though not technically a murderer, though no jury of his peers would ever have convicted him, none the less the death of every individual was due to him.  As I said before, a word from him and the slaughter would have ceased.  But he refused to give that word.  He insisted that the integrity of society was assailed; that he was not sufficiently a coward to desert his post; and that it was manifestly just that a few should be martyred for the ultimate welfare of the many.  Nevertheless this blood was upon his head, and he sank into deeper and deeper gloom.  I was likewise whelmed with the guilt of an accomplice.  Babies were ruthlessly killed, children, aged men; and not only were these murders local, but they were distributed over the country.  In the middle of February, one evening, as we sat in the library, there came a sharp knock at the door.  On responding to it I found, lying on the carpet of the corridor, the following missive: 

Office of the M. Of M., February 15, 1900.

Mr. Eben Hale, Money Baron: 

Dear Sir,—­Does not your soul cry out upon the red harvest it is reaping?  Perhaps we have been too abstract in conducting our business.  Let us now be concrete.  Miss Adelaide Laidlaw is a talented young woman, as good, we understand, as she is beautiful.  She is the daughter of your old friend, Judge Laidlaw, and we happen to know that you carried her in your arms when she was an infant.  She is your daughter’s closest friend, and at present is visiting her.  When your eyes have read thus far her visit will have terminated.

Very cordially,

The minions of Midas.

My God! did we not instantly realize the terrible import!  We rushed through the dayrooms—­she was not there—­and on to her own apartments.  The door was locked, but we crashed it down by hurling ourselves against it.  There she lay, just as she had finished dressing for the opera, smothered with pillows torn from the couch, the flush of life yet on her flesh, the body still flexible and warm.  Let me pass over the rest of this horror.  You will surely remember, John, the newspaper accounts.

Late that night Mr. Hale summoned me to him, and before God did pledge me most solemnly to stand by him and not to compromise, even if all kith and kin were destroyed.

The next day I was surprised at his cheerfulness.  I had thought he would be deeply shocked by this last tragedy—­how deep I was soon to learn.  All day he was light-hearted and high-spirited, as though at last he had found a way out of the frightful difficulty.  The next morning we found him dead in his bed, a peaceful smile upon his careworn face—­asphyxiation.  Through the connivance of the police and the authorities, it was given out to the world as heart disease.  We deemed it wise to withhold the truth; but little good has it done us, little good has anything done us.