"What are you doing?" he hotly demanded.
"Only what all Washington will do to-morrow, and afterwards the
whole world," gravely returned the major. Then, as an ejaculation
escaped the astonished millionaire, he impressively added: "A
perjury which allows an innocent man and woman to remain under the
suspicion of murder for five weeks is one which not only the law
has a right to punish, but which all society will condemn.
Henceforth you will find yourself under a ban, Mr. Moore."*
My story ends here. The matter never came before the grand jury.
Suicide had been proved, and there the affair rested. Of myself it
is enough to add that I sometimes call in Durbin to help me in a
big case.
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* Time amply verified this prophecy. Mr. Moore is living in great
style in the Moore house, and drives horses which are conspicuous
even in Washington. But no one accepts his invitations, and he is
as much of a recluse in his present mansion as he ever was in the
humble cottage in which his days of penury were spent.
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XXVII
YOU HAVE COME! YOU RAVE SOUGHT ME!"
These are some words from a letter written a few months after the
foregoing by one Mrs.
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