The postmaster forced a grin. “Well, ye can believe that if ye like. And then,” he went on quickly, “ye had your chance in the train—and lost it!” “I’ve told you why.” “Well, if ye had got the girl, the letter wouldna ha’ mattered so much, for ye would ha’ got the Zeniths wi’ her. So ye can blame yourself as well as me.” There was a silence. Corrie sat glowering at the floor and plucking at his lower lip. Symington scowled openly at him. They were in the privacy of the parlour. It was about nine o’clock and growing dark. Suddenly Symington emitted a short, ugly laugh. “So this is what you brought me back from London for! Well, I don’t wonder at your being afraid. Between embezzlement and attempted murder—” “Whisht, man, for God’s sake!” “It may be murder itself yet—” “Be quiet, damn ye!” “Look here, Corrie; what’ll you do if Sam recovers?” “He canna recover—I heard it an hour before ye arrived. But supposing he does recover, what can he do without the letter?” “You’re perfectly sure he didn’t spot you?” “Aye; I’m sure—and I’m almost sure young Hayward didna’ recognize me.” “Otherwise you wouldna be sitting here now—eh?” “Let that pass,” said Corrie, restraining his temper. “The point is—the letter.” “But I don’t happen to be interested in the letter.” “Ye’ve got to be interested in it! If I canna get back the letter, I’ll need to get back the shares.” “I’m afraid you won’t get back the shares.” Corrie exploded. “Would ye ruin me—send me to the jail?” Symington ignored the outburst. “I bought the shares from you,” he said calmly, “and paid for them. I have your acknowledgment. I may say that I intend to hold them till September, when a first dividend will be declared, which, I am informed, will send them to ten pounds—” “Ten pound! Fifty thousand for the lot!” gasped Corrie. “Just so. But rather than risk being involved in your dirty affairs, I’ll sell the lot to-morrow for what I can get and—er—emigrate.” “Ye swine!—but ye’ll ha’ the police after ye!” “Why?” Corrie rose, sat down again, and writhed in his impotence. “I might have the lawyers after me,” Symington admitted easily, “but the lawyers always take a —— of a time to get to work, and I generally travel quickly. However, I think you’re making too much of your own danger. Kitty is not likely to attempt to prosecute you, since you can prove that she tampered with the post office money.” He peered through the dusk at the other’s face. “Isn’t that so?” “Aye, that’s so,” Corrie managed to reply. He was caught in the toils of his own making. After a little while Symington said: “Why don’t you make Kitty come back here?” Corrie started, then dropped his gaze. “How can I do that when I dinna ken where she is?” Symington took out the telegram he had found on his arrival. “Is that her address?” cried the other.