“You’ll have to trust me,” he said. “You shall have the check on no other terms. I’m a desperate man to-night; I feel so sick, so driven, that I’d as leave balk you of your money and tell the truth myself. I give you two minutes to decide. Take the check, give me the note, and be off, or go and do your worst.” Seth slouched round the table, still holding the note, and looking fiercely into Bradstone’s eyes. “By God!” he said; “if I thought you were playin’ me false--but I don’t think you’d dare. Give me over the check; there’s the note.” Bartley Bradstone clutched the two halves of the envelope and pointed to the door. Seth, still looking at him, poured out a glass of brandy. “All right, guv’nor, I’m off. And now, if a cove as knows what’s what may offer a word of advice, I’d say, make yersel’ scarce as soon as possible. This is an awkward business. This ’ere Mr. Faradeane has got friends, and they won’t let him be scragged if they can help it. Why, even now they may be on the right scent. When I was a-follerin’ you in the city, there was a gent with a smooth face as came across you twice, and looked at you in a way as I knows pretty well by this time; and I see him at the station agen when you was comin’ back. It might mean nothin’, but a nod’s as good as a wink to a blind hoss. Hook it, guv’nor, sharp,” and with a nod he turned up the collar of his coat, pulled his cap well over his face, and went out. CHAPTER XXXIV. THE SUMMING UP. Faradeane was led to the cell in which he was to wait during the adjournment. Five minutes afterward the warder announced Mr. Edgar. Mr. Edgar waited until the door closed, and then held out his hand. Faradeane took it with the faintest gesture of surprise. “I suppose you don’t remember me, my lord!” said Mr. Edgar. “I was a guest at a river party you gave some years ago.” Faradeane passed his hand across his brow. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “I had forgotten. I am sorry that we should meet again under such circumstances.” “Yes, my lord,” said Mr. Edgar, “and yet I cannot help feeling glad that the judge should have trusted your case to me. We have so short a time in which to confer, that I am sure you will forgive me if I proceed at once to discuss the matter. I need not say, my lord, that I myself, speaking as a counsel, am quite convinced of your innocence. It is not for me to ask you why you have seen fit to plead guilty to a crime for which I, for one, am perfectly sure you were utterly incapable. But I wish most earnestly, in fact, it is my duty, to point out to you that unless some evidence can be produced to rebut that which the prosecution have already produced, and that which I believe they have still in hand, you stand in the most terrible peril. I will ask you only one question bearing directly on the death of this unfortunate woman. Will you tell me, my lord, as man to man--as prisoner to his counsel--did she commit suicide?”