Gregson, in fact, loved crime――the double life it involved, the excessive danger it created, and the cynical enjoyment it yielded him of doing always the worst thing he could think of. The man was so radically bad――so naturally prone to wickedness――so utterly dead to the whispers of conscience――that he was a foul blot upon the face of nature. He was a sort of wild beast, who waged ceaseless war against society. It is indeed a sad thing to reflect upon that in this civilised country, with the means of education and moral training open to the poorest and humblest in the land, such monstrosities as Gregson and Charles Peace should have existence. But we will not dwell further upon this painful theme. Gregson, as we have seen has paid the penalty of his crime. The career of Peace it is our purpose to chronicle. In doing this it will be necessary, as this work progresses, to diverge occasionally to note the actions and doings of other groups of characters with whom Peace was more or less connected. Charles Peace, when he had seen the last of Gregson, rose from his seat, and moved slowly towards the centre of the room, which was more than half-filled with sightseers. The tall gentleman who had sat by his side during the execution also rose, and prepared to take his departure. “This is a scene when once witnessed is not easily to be forgotten,” he observed to Peace. “I assume, sir, you are like myself, but too glad it is over.” “I am, indeed, sir,” answered Peace, in oleaginous accents. “You do not desire to remain longer?” “Oh, dear me, no.” “Nor I. We will get away as speedily as may be convenient.” “By all means.” The two companions descended the stairs, and gained the street. This done, they walked side by side until they had got clear of the gaol and its ghastly surroundings. It transpired, in the course of conversation, that Peace’s companion was journeying in the same direction as our hero, who expressed himself very well pleased at having his company on the road. “We have met for the first time this morning, sir,” observed Peace; “allow me to express a hope that we may meet again under more auspicious circumstances.” The gentleman bowed, and said, “I hope so, I’m sure. Any way, we shall not meet again under similar circumstances, for I tell you frankly that this is the first, and it will be the last, time of my being present at such a scene.” They walked on for some little distance further, and came within sight of a roadside inn, with seats and alcoves in its front. “I think a little cold brandy and water will do us both good,” said Peace. “What say you?” “As you please, I have no objection,” was the ready rejoinder. “As a rule I do not take any spirits in the morning, but this is an exceptional case.” The two strolled in the grounds in front of the hostelry, and glasses were ordered and paid for by Peace.