“It seems to me,” he said, “that if you carried this story to the police they’d probably be inclined to ask how it happens that you haven’t spoken before. They’ll want to know what was your connection with the dead woman, and what has become of the property which she had on her person when she was shot; and I should think it not unlikely that the police would make it unpleasant for a gentleman of your appearance, and with your past history. In fact, if you ask me my opinion, I should say that before an hour had passed you yourself would be charged with the murder of the woman of whom you know so much. What’s to prevent my telling them what you’ve now said against me? In fact, my friend, why should I not turn the tables? Now, come; you look like a sensible man. Take the money I have offered you to leave the country.” Seth, with white face and flaming eyes, glared at him for a moment in breathless silence. Then he said, hoarsely: “By Heaven, you are a cool hand, Mister Bradstone, and I admire yer; but it won’t do. I mean to have that thousand pounds if I dog yer day and night. I don’t want to blab on yer; it ’ud be awkward for me to come forward as a public character. I admits as much, so I’ll come to terms with yer. Hand up the money, and save yer cleverness for the time you’ll want it--and from what I knows of such men as you, that time won’t be long a-comin’.” Bartley Bradstone buttoned his coat. “You may do your worst,” he said. “The hundred pounds is still yours, if you like to take it, but not one penny more.” Seth laughed. “Will you take my offer?” “No,” said Seth, with an oath. “Very well,” said Bradstone, and he put on his hat and walked toward the door. “Where are you a-goin’?” demanded Seth. Bartley Bradstone made no reply; he unlocked the side door and opened it. It was still raining, and dark as pitch. He went down the steps, Seth following close upon his heels, down the drive, out of the lodge and into the muddy lane; and, like a shadow, Seth still followed. From the lane Bartley Bradstone turned to the left, into a path that led toward the wood. He could scarcely have told, had he been asked his object in taking this path. His one idea was to get away from The Maples, where Seth could give the alarm. In the confusion of his mind, in the deadly agony of his fear, he almost lost consciousness of the spy who still hung on to him. Suddenly Seth reminded him of his presence. Stepping up beside him, he put his hand upon his arm. “’Ere, guv’nor,” he said, “I’m sick o’ this. I think I’ll be able to show you that you’d better come to terms. I was only playing with you, up there at the house. I’ve got evidence that’ll put you out o’ the way without an ounce o’ trouble.” “Evidence?” said Bartley Bradstone, with a sneer; “evidence of a gypsy pickpocket against the word of a well-known gentleman.”