The Argosy — page 396: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

378 In a Dangerous Strait. ‘He is dying,” whispered the French detective with sudden gravity, as he raised the drooping face. Luigi approached, and helped to lift his betrayed and wounded master on to the couch, loosened his cravat and unfastened his waistcoat. De Fontenay had not lost consciousness ; his eyes were wide open, and unnaturally bright, but his features looked pinched and drawn, and his rich olive complexion had faded to an ashen pallor. Docquois stood, the image of distress. “No cause for a long face,” spoke de Fontenay to him, with a haggard smile, as he feebly strove to repulse Luigi. ‘You never did me a better turn than by that*chance shot, Docquois, my good friend. No, don’t touch me; let me die in peace. But first ” His eyes wandered round till they rested on Gilbert ; then he turned, and addressed the superintendent, who was standing near the couch. “Sir, I have a statement to make which will clear an innocent man from unjust suspicion. Mr. Haviland spoke the truth just © now; he—but let it be taken down in writing,” he broke off, ‘and quickly, for my moments are counted.” Clearly and collectedly, though in a voice which grew fainter with every word, he made his confession, and affixed a trembling signature. Then he looked wistfully at Gilbert again, and the latter crossed the room to his side. “ Haviland, will you forgive me?” he faltered. ‘I did not mean my threats just now. Villain though I may have been, Iam nota murderer ; believe that.” Without a word the young man gave him his hand. “Thanks,” he said, his lips parting in a faint smile. ‘ You are a good fellow. You deserve to be happy, and you will be—happy and prosperous with—with the woman you love. Tell her from me that a His voice sank so low that the rest of the sentence was inaudible. ‘‘ Jeanne—‘ brune aux yeux bleus,’” he muttered ; and with a long shivering sigh, fell back on the pillows, dead. De Fontenay’s prophecy was realised. Gilbert Haviland was happy in due course of time, and very prosperous. He is now one of the most popular illustrators of our periodical literature. Janet and he have partly forgotten the shadows and trials of the past. “ But I can never forget the horror of that night, as you related it to me, Gilbert,” she says to him sometimes, with a shudder. “T cannot regret it, when it served to draw us more closely together, my darling,” her husband answers tenderly. ‘All the same, I hope it may never again be my lot to find myself in so dangerous a strait.” comicbooks.com