''E's one on 'em--'e's one on 'em,' cried the old lady. ''E 'eld
my man while 'tother 'it 'im.'
"The driver saw her mistake instantly, and realizing his danger as the
man passed into the house with the body of the old man, he ran down
the street and escaped. Two days later, he read in a Liverpool paper
that the grandfather and boy were both dead, and that the dying
statement of the old man, the testimony of the grandmother and the
brother, was that both the strangers were guilty.
"How the wealthy American made his escape from the country you know
best. The driver shipped aboard a vessel bound for Australia, and
later, made his way home."
When Dick had finished his story, Whitley's face was drawn and haggard.
He leaped to his feet again, but the revolver motioned him back. "What
fiend told you all this?" he gasped hoarsely. "Who are you?"
"I am the driver."
Whitley sank back in his chair; then suddenly broke into a harsh laugh.
"You are a crazy fool. Who would believe you? You have no proof."
"Wait a bit," replied Dick, calmly. "There is another chapter to my
story. Less than a year after the tragedy, the invalid grandmother
died and the young machinist was free to enter upon the great work of
his life, the bringing to justice of his brother's murderer, or as
_he_ believed, murderers. He could find no clue as to the identity of
the obscure driver of the carriage, but with the wealthy American it
was different, and he succeeded at last in tracing him to his home in
this city.
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