You understand now why--don't you ?" he said under his breath.
"No, no!" Carling pushed away the pen.

"I'm ruined--ruined as it is.

But this would mean the penitentiary, too--" "Where you tried to send an innocent man in your place, you hound; where you--" "Some other way--some other way!" Carling was babbling.

"Let me out of this--for God's sake, let me out of this!" "Carling," said Jimmie Dale hoarsely, "I stood beside a little bed to-night and looked at a baby girl--a little baby girl with golden hair, who smiled as she slept." Carling shivered, and passed a shaking hand across his face.
"Take this pen," said Jimmie Dale monotonously; "or--THIS!" The automatic lifted until the muzzle was on a line with Carling's eyes.
Carling's hand reached out, still shaking, and took the pen; and his body, dragged limply forward, hung over the desk.

The pen spluttered on the paper--a bead of sweat spurting from the man's forehead dropped to the sheet.
There was silence in the room.