I could not help laughing at the versatility of the old scoundrel. “It was a daring game to play,” I said. “It is always the daring game which succeeds best,” he answered. At this point the train began to show symptoms of slowing down, and my companion put on his overcoat and gave other signs of being near the end of his journey. “You are going on to Dover?” he said. “Yes.” “For the Continent?” “Yes.” “How long do you intend to travel?” “Only for a week or so.” “Well, I must leave you here. You will remember my name, won’t you? John Wilkie. I am pleased to have met you. Is my umbrella behind you?” he added, stretching across. “No; I beg your pardon. Here it is in the corner;” and with an affable smile, the ex-cracksman stepped out, bowed, and disappeared among the crowd upon the platform. I lit another cigar, laughed as I thought of my late companion, and lifted up the “Times,” which he had left behind him. The bell had rung, the wheels were already revolving, when, to my astonishment, a pallid face looked in at me through the window. It was so contorted and agitated that I hardly recognized the features which I had been gazing upon during the last couple of hours. “Here, take it,” he said, “take it. It’s hardly worth my while to rob you of seven pounds four shillings, but I couldn’t resist once more trying my hand;” and he flung something into the carriage and disappeared. It was my old leather purse, with my return ticket, and the whole of my travelling expenses. His newly awakened conscience had driven him to instant restitution. [Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the April, 1895 issue of _McClure’s Magazine_.]