Octavus Roy Cohen

“ Hall gave back a step.
“Eunice! You know I’m not. He has confessed to the killing.”
“It’s a lie!” A pause, and then: “What man?”
“Frederick Badger!”
“O-o-o-h!” As suddenly as she had risen, she relaxed. The light died from her eyes. She crumpled on the couch. “Why—why—didn’t you say that?”
“I did. I explained. That’s why I asked you who he was. If you’ll withdraw your confession now we’ll probably let you go home. Badger killed him.”
She turned her haggard face to him.
“I told you Badger is crazy. I repeat it. He didn’t kill Mr. Hamilton. I did—shot him with his own revolver!” ”

“ In the fraction of an instant he was metamorphosed from the victim of a monomania to his natural, harmless, helpless, inoffensive self. “And so I went to the pawnshop and bought the revolver and went back to the house and killed him. And then I came down here and gave myself up.”
“Do you realize what this means for you?”
Badger shrugged.
“There wasn’t anything in life for me, anyway. And maybe it’ll teach these rich people a lesson. I told him I was going to kill him, and then I went right down to the pawnshop——”
“Yes, yes; we understand that. We’ll hold you now. ”

“ Badger rose to his feet, and as he talked his manner became more violent and his voice rose to a crescendo. “I know how these rich men get rich! They steal their money from us poor people. He took all my money, and I know there was oil there. He said there wasn’t, and all my money was gone. ”