At the end of this first seance I went home with six of his fearful secrets among my freightage, and found them a great help to my dreams, which had been sluggish for a while back.  I sought him again and again, on my Saturday holidays; in fact I spent the summer with him—­all of it which was valuable to me.  His fascinations never diminished, for he threw something fresh and stirring, in the way of horror, into each successive murder.  He always gave names, dates, places—­everything.  This by and by enabled me to note two things:  that he had killed his victims in every quarter of the globe, and that these victims were always named Lynch.  The destruction of the Lynches went serenely on, Saturday after Saturday, until the original thirty had multiplied to sixty—­and more to be heard from yet; then my curiosity got the better of my timidity, and I asked how it happened that these justly punished persons all bore the same name.

My hero said he had never divulged that dark secret to any living being; but felt that he could trust me, and therefore he would lay bare before me the story of his sad and blighted life.  He had loved one ’too fair for earth,’ and she had reciprocated ’with all the sweet affection of her pure and noble nature.’  But he had a rival, a ‘base hireling’ named Archibald Lynch, who said the girl should be his, or he would ’dye his hands in her heart’s best blood.’  The carpenter, ’innocent and happy in love’s young dream,’ gave no weight to the threat, but led his ’golden-haired darling to the altar,’ and there, the two were made one; there also, just as the minister’s hands were stretched in blessing over their heads, the fell deed was done—­with a knife—­and the bride fell a corpse at her husband’s feet.  And what did the husband do?  He plucked forth that knife, and kneeling by the body of his lost one, swore to ’consecrate his life to the extermination of all the human scum that bear the hated name of Lynch.’

That was it.  He had been hunting down the Lynches and slaughtering them, from that day to this—­twenty years.  He had always used that same consecrated knife; with it he had murdered his long array of Lynches, and with it he had left upon the forehead of each victim a peculiar mark—­a cross, deeply incised.  Said he—­

’The cross of the Mysterious Avenger is known in Europe, in America, in China, in Siam, in the Tropics, in the Polar Seas, in the deserts of Asia, in all the earth.  Wherever in the uttermost parts of the globe, a Lynch has penetrated, there has the Mysterious Cross been seen, and those who have seen it have shuddered and said, “It is his mark, he has been here.”  You have heard of the Mysterious Avenger—­look upon him, for before you stands no less a person!  But beware—­breathe not a word to any soul.  Be silent, and wait.  Some morning this town will flock aghast to view a gory corpse; on its brow will be seen the awful sign, and men will tremble and whisper, “He has been here—­it is the Mysterious Avenger’s mark!” You will come here, but I shall have vanished; you will see me no more.’