He regarded me with wonderment， and then came thedamnable light， glowing and spreading， as I have describedit， till his face shone soft and warm， like the summermoon， and then the laugh— “Ha！ ha！ That’s funny！ Youdon’t see it， eh？ He！ he！ Ho！ ho！ ho！ He doesn’t see it！ Why，look here. You know a puddle—”
But I turned on my heel and left him. That was the last.
I could stand it no longer. The thing must end right there，I thought， curse him！ The earth should be quit of him.
And as I went over the hill， I could hear his monstrouslaugh reverberating against the sky.
Now， I pride myself on doing things neatly， and when Iresolved to kill John Claverhouse I had it in mind to doso in such fashion that I should not look back upon it andfeel ashamed. I hate bungling， and I hate brutality. To methere is something repugnant in merely striking a manwith one’s naked fist—faugh！ it is sickening！ So， to shoot，or stab， or club John Claverhouse （oh， that name！） did notappeal to me. And not only was I impelled to do it neatlyand artistically， but also in such manner that not theslightest possible suspicion could be directed against me.
To this end I bent my intellect， and， after a week ofprofound incubation， I hatched the scheme. Then I setto work. I bought a water spaniel bitch， five months old，and devoted my whole attention to her training. Had anyone spied upon me， they would have remarked that thistraining consisted entirely of one thing—RETRIEVING.
I taught the dog， which I called “Bellona，” to fetch sticks Ithrew into the water， and not only to fetch， but to fetch atonce， without mouthing or playing with them. The pointwas that she was to stop for nothing， but to deliver thestick in all haste. I made a practice of running away andleaving her to chase me， with the stick in her mouth， tillshe caught me. She was a bright animal， and took to thegame with such eagerness that I was soon content.
After that， at the first casual opportunity， I presentedBellona to John Claverhouse. I knew what I was about，for I was aware of a little weakness of his， and of a littleprivate sinning of which he was regularly and inveteratelyguilty.
“No，” he said， when I placed the end of the rope in hishand. “No， you don’t mean it.” And his mouth openedwide and he grinned all over his damnable moon-face.
“I—I kind of thought， somehow， you didn’t like me，” heexplained. “Wasn’t it funny for me to make such a mistake？”
And at the thought he held his sides with laughter.
“What is her name？” he managed to ask betweenparoxysms.
“Bellona，” I said.
“He！ he！” he tittered. “What a funny name.”
I gritted my teeth， for his mirth put them on edge， andsnapped out between them， “She was the wife of Mars，you know.”
Then the light of the full moon began to suffuse his face，until he exploded with： “That was my other dog. Well， Iguess she’s a widow now. Oh！ Ho！ ho！ E！ he！ he！ Ho！” hewhooped after me， and I turned and fled swiftly over thehill.
The week passed by， and on Saturday evening I said tohim， “You go away Monday， don’t you？”
He nodded his head and grinned.
“Then you won’t have another chance to get a mess ofthose trout you just ’dote’ on.”
But he did not notice the sneer. “Oh， I don’t know，” hechuckled. “I’m going up to-morrow to try pretty hard.”
Thus was assurance made doubly sure， and I went backto my house hugging myself with rapture.
Early next morning I saw him go by with a dip-netand gunnysack， and Bellona trotting at his heels. I knewwhere he was bound， and cut out by the back pastureand climbed through the underbrush to the top of themountain. Keeping carefully out of sight， I followed thecrest along for a couple of miles to a natural amphitheatrein the hills， where the little river raced down out of agorge and stopped for breath in a large and placid rockboundpool. That was the spot！ I sat down on the croupof the mountain， where I could see all that occurred， andlighted my pipe.
Ere many minutes had passed， John Claverhouse cameplodding up the bed of the stream. Bellona was amblingabout him， and they were in high feather， her short， snappybarks mingling with his deeper chest-notes. Arrived at thepool， he threw down the dip-net and sack， and drew fromhis hip-pocket what looked like a large， fat candle. But Iknew it to be a stick of “giant”； for such was his method ofcatching trout. He dynamited them. He attached the fuseby wrapping the “giant” tightly in a piece of cotton. Thenhe ignited the fuse and tossed the explosive into the pool.
Like a flash， Bellona was into the pool after it. I couldhave shrieked aloud for joy. Claverhouse yelled at her， butwithout avail. He pelted her with clods and rocks， but sheswam steadily on till she got the stick of “giant” in hermouth， when she whirled about and headed for shore.
Then， for the first time， he realized his danger， and startedto run. As foreseen and planned by me， she made the bankand took out after him. Oh， I tell you， it was great！ As Ihave said， the pool lay in a sort of amphitheatre. Aboveand below， the stream could be crossed on steppingstones.
And around and around， up and down and acrossthe stones， raced Claverhouse and Bellona. I could neverhave believed that such an ungainly man could run so fast.
But run he did， Bellona hot-footed after him， and gaining.
And then， just as she caught up， he in full stride， and sheleaping with nose at his knee， there was a sudden flash， aburst of smoke， a terrific detonation， and where man anddog had been the instant before there was naught to beseen but a big hole in the ground.
“Death from accident while engaged in illegal fishing.”
That was the verdict of the coroner’s jury； and that iswhy I pride myself on the neat and artistic way in whichI finished off John Claverhouse. There was no bungling，no brutality； nothing of which to be ashamed in the wholetransaction， as I am sure you will agree. No more does hisinfernal laugh go echoing among the hills， and no moredoes his fat moon-face rise up to vex me. My days arepeaceful now， and my night’s sleep deep.
