He stood back with folded arms and watched the dying convulsions of his
victim.
Soon the huge form lay quiet, the strong limbs stiffened in death.
A smile played on the features of Barkswell. Nevertheless his face was
pale and drawn, and his breath came in short, hot gasps. It was no
ordinary thing to take the life of a human being, much less to perpetrate
the deed in cold blood.
"Now then the body must be disposed of," muttered Barkswell. "I cannot
permit it to lay here."
He moved about and lifted a small trap in the floor. Through this he
tumbled the body, and taking the candle, towered himself into a small,
damp cellar.
It was a gloomy place.
The murderer must needs labor here for a time, however.
The ground was soft, and procuring a barrel-stave, the homicide went at
the labor of digging a grave for his victim.
This work consumed some time. It was accomplished at length, however, and
the body of the tramp tumbled in.
Slowly the man heaped the loose sand above the breast of his victim. When
it was level full he stamped it down with his feet, and then heaped on
more of the dirt.
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