The Agony Column

At the moment the only defense I can think of is simply this--the

captain knows I killed him!

Even as I write this, I hear his footsteps above me, as I heard them

when I sat here composing my first letter to you. He is dressing for

dinner. We are to dine together at Romano's.

And there, my lady, you have finally the answer to the mystery that

has--I hope--puzzled you. I killed my friend the captain in my second

letter to you, and all the odd developments that followed lived only in

my imagination as I sat here beside the green-shaded lamp in my study,

plotting how I should write seven letters to you that would, as the

novel advertisements say, grip your attention to the very end. Oh, I am

guilty--there is no denying that. And, though I do not wish to ape old

Adam and imply that I was tempted by a lovely woman, a strict regard for

the truth forces me to add that there is also guilt upon your head.

How so? Go back to that message you inserted in the Daily Mail: "The

grapefruit lady's great fondness for mystery and romance--"

You did not know it, of course; but in those words you passed me a

challenge I could not resist; for making plots is the business of

life--more, the breath of life--to me. I have made many; and perhaps you

have followed some of them, on Broadway. Perhaps you have seen a play of

mine announced for early production in London. There was mention of it

in the program at the Palace. That was the business which kept me in

England. The project has been abandoned now and I am free to go back

home.

Thus you see that when you granted me the privilege of those seven

letters you played into my hands. So, said I, she longs for mystery and

romance. Then, by the Lord Harry, she shall have them!

And it was the tramp of Captain Fraser-Freer's boots above my head that

showed me the way. A fine, stalwart, cordial fellow--the captain--who

has been very kind to me since I presented my letter of introduction

from his cousin, Archibald Enwright. Poor Archie! A meek, correct little

soul, who would be horrified beyond expression if he knew that of him I

had made a spy and a frequenter of Limehouse!

The dim beginnings of the plot were in my mind when I wrote that first

letter, suggesting that all was not regular in the matter of Archie's

note of introduction. Before I wrote my second, I knew that nothing but

the death of Fraser-Freer would do me. I recalled that Indian knife I

had seen upon his desk, and from that moment he was doomed. At that

time I had no idea how I should solve the mystery. But I had read and

wondered at those four strange messages in the Mail, and I resolved that

they must figure in the scheme of things.