‘The bottle with its contents has been handed to the police, though it is doubtful if any clue will ever be obtained to the meaning of this extraordinary message from the sea.’ Yes, to one man there was a clue. Edward Marston read each word, and it seemed as though Providence had sent the message to him. His pale facc glowed; his sunken eyes gleamed. He had Gurth Egerton’s life in his hand. Let him. come now—he was ready. He saw it all. When the _Bon Espoir_ was sinking, Egerton, with the terrors of death upon him, had hurled this into the sea; it had floated about for years, to be cast ashore now—now, when such a revelation placed the murderer at the mercy of the man he would injure. Marston’s suspicions were confirmed. He had always suspected that Ralph Egerton had met with foul play. He could hardly believe that the paper he held in his hand was real—that he was not the victim of some nightmare, from which he would presently awake. While he sat staring at the paper, and reading it again and again, there came a ring at the bell. Marston folded the paper and threw it back in its place. The next moment Gurth Egerton came into the room. The servant had told him a gentleman wanted to see him. He started violently when he saw Marston. ‘You here?’ he exclaimed. ‘Yes’, Mr. Egerton,’ said Marston calmly. ‘I’ve just come to pay you a little friendly visit before I leave the country.’ Egerton wondered what he should do. On the morrow he was prepared to denounce this man to justice—not openly, but through George Heritage—and here was the man sitting quietly and calmly in his house. Egerton could not at once conceal his agitation at being thus confronted by his intended victim. ‘You don’t seem pleased to see me,’ said Marston. ‘Well, to tell you the truth, my dear fellow,’ answered Gurth, ‘I’m not. What have you come for?’ ‘On the old business. Just to have a chat. When are you going to split on your old pal?’ Egerton’s face flushed crimson, and he stammered out, ‘I—I—don’t understand you!’ ‘Tut, tut, man! Let’s play cards on the table. We’re not the raw lads we were in the old days when you were plucking your cousin Ralph.’ ‘It’s a lie!’ said Egerton fiercely. ‘I never plucked Ralph, as you call it.’ ‘My dear fellow, what a fuss you make about such a paltry accusation. Why, if I had said you murdered him you couldn’t look more indignant.’ ‘Enough!’ exclaimed Egerton with an oath. ‘You have not come here to talk about Ralph Egerton.’ ‘Indeed I have!’ said Marston. ‘And be civil, if you can, for I’ve come to do you a service. You’re a careless fellow, to leave a confession of murder kicking about on the sea.’ Egerton leapt to his feet and seized Marston by the arm. His face was a deathly white, and his lips trembled, while great beads of perspiration stood upon his brow. ‘Hush!’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Not so loud. What do you mean?’