bids on how the thing should be done. I did the best possible under the circumstances, and I rather thought that I had made a clean job of it.”
“That delusion,” muttered Mason, “is common with the amateur. Indeed, it is the mark of him. This killing was useless. You could have gotten on as well without it.”
The keen, gray eyes of Robert Gilmore twinkled. “I should be interested to know how?” he said.
“At this late hour,” answered Randolph Mason, “my advice upon that point can be of no importance. Suggestions after the fact are of little interest and of no value. You have now to consider some method by which you may place yourself permanently beyond the reach of the law. This is no problem of slight moment, and, in order to meet it properly, I must know the details of this blundering business.”
The coal operator's face grew grave and thoughtful. “I presume,” he began, “that the priest and the attorney are accustomed to require details and accurate confessions. I am
