While he waited, Coquenil opened the diary and began to read.  There were some four hundred neatly written pages, brief separate entries without dates, separate thoughts as it were, and, as he turned through them he found himself more and more absorbed until, presently, he forgot time, place, danger, everything; an hour passed, two hours, and still the detective read on while his candle guttered down to the stick and the brightening day filled his mean stable room; he was absolutely lost in a most extraordinary human document, in one of those terrible utterances, shameless and fearless, that are flung out, once in a century or so, from the hot somber depths of a man’s being.

   I

I have kept this diary because it amuses me, because I am not afraid, because my nature craves and demands some honest expression somewhere.  If these pages were read I should be destroyed.  I understand that, but I am in constant danger of being destroyed, anyway.  I might be killed by an automobile accident.  A small artery in my brain might snap.  My heart might stop beating for various reasons.  And it is no more likely that this diary will be found and read (with the precautions I have taken) than that one of these other things will happen.  Besides, I have no fear, since I regard my own life and all other lives as of absolutely trifling importance.

   II

I say here to myself what thousands of serious and successful men all over the world are saying to themselves, what the enormous majority of men must say to themselves, that is, that I am (and they are) constantly committing crimes and we are therefore criminals.  Some of us kill, some steal, some seduce virgins, some take our friends’ wives, but most of us, in one way or another, deliberately and repeatedly break the law, so we are criminals.

   III

Half the great men of this world are great criminals.  The Napoleons of war murder thousands, the Napoleons of trade and finance plunder tens of thousands.  It is the same among beasts and fishes, among birds and insects, probably among angels and devils, everywhere we find one inexorable law, resistless as gravitation, that impels the strong to plunder and destroy the weak.

   IV

It is five years since I committed what would be called a monstrous and cowardly crime.  As a matter of fact, I did what my intelligence recognized as necessary and what was therefore my duty.  However, let us call it a crime.  I have been interested to watch for any consequences or effects of this crime in myself and I have discovered none.  I study my face carefully and fail to find any marks of wickedness.  My eyes are clear and beautiful, my skin is remarkably free from lines.  I am in splendid health, I eat well, sleep well, and enjoy life.  My nerves are absolutely steady.  I have never felt the slightest twinge of remorse.  I have a keen sense of humor.  I look five