THE SPORT OF THE GODS
mine. I must carry it here always, do you hear? I must carry it till I die. Go away! Go away!"
Skaggs seized him. Oakley struggled weakly, but he had no strength. The reporter's hand sought the secret pocket. He felt a paper beneath his fingers. Oakley gasped hoarsely as he drew it forth. Then raising his voice gave one agonised cry, and sank to the floor frothing at the mouth. At the cry rapid footsteps were heard in the hallway, and Mrs. Oakley threw open the door.
"What is the matter?" she cried.
"My message has somewhat upset your husband," was the cool answer.
"But his breast is open. Your hand has been in his bosom. You have taken something from him. Give it to me, or I shall call for help."
Skaggs had not reckoned on this, but his wits came to the rescue.
"You dare not call for help," he said, "or the world will know!"
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