The Red Paste Murders (Musaicum Vintage Mysteries) - Arthur Gask

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a hanging for me if the man were dead. At any moment someone might come by along the path, and I should be a lost man. I thrust the iron back into my pocket, and, seizing the limp body by the collar, dragged it heavily across the turf, away from the path. It was a heavy load to pull, and less than fifty yards left me breathless and exhausted. I took a moment's rest, and then, spurred on by fear, dragged the body along again towards a little clump of trees.

      I stood up stealthily and looked round. There was nothing to disturb me—only the flickering lights of the city and the rumbling of some distant train.

      My momentary feeling of panic left me as suddenly as it had come, and I trembled now with a delicious feeling of excitement to think of what I had done. I had killed a man, and the man had richly deserved to be killed, for insulting and ignoring me when I had asked him the time.

      I wasn't going to be insulted any more, and if anyone attempted to browbeat me, they must take the consequences. I wasn't going to be caught either. It would always be a secret who had killed this man, and I would gloat over the mystery I had caused. What a tale for the papers tomorrow, and what an interest I should get in reading all they had to say. But I must be careful not to be found out, and must leave no trace behind.

      I took out the piece of iron that I had thrust back in my pocket and rubbed it vigorously upon the turf to remove any trace of blood that might be on it. Then, keeping my body low, I quickly put two or three hundred yards between me and the man I had killed before I again struck the path leading over the park lands.

      I crouched low for a minute to see if anyone was passing, and then, finding the coast quite clear, broke into a quick walk towards the city.

      I made a good detour before going home, and reached my front door just as the clocks were striking eleven. The only thing that marred my complete satisfaction was running into Meadows in the hall. He was inclined to be quite friendly and chatty, but the encounter seemed rather to upset my nerves, and when I finally got to my room I took out the jar of paste in a vague feeling of recklessness, and helped myself to another teaspoonful.

      Then I got into bed and passed a rather restless night of troubled slumber. I seemed to be dreaming and dreaming all night long.

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