‘Lord, man! what’s the matter? You don’t think I’m going to round on you, do you? I only want you to do me a favour, and I’ll do you one in return. I have in my possession your written confession of the murder of your cousin, signed by you. You wrote it when the _Bon Espoir_ was sinking—and I have it.’ ‘The sea has given up her dead!’ cried Egerton, starting back, his face distorted with terror. ‘It has,’ said Marston quietly. ‘Your life is in my hands. Come, you were going to play me a scurvy trick. I’ll return good for evil. This confession is in my hands. Do what I ask you, and you shall have it and tear it up.’ ‘Name your terms,’ groaned Egerton, sinking into a chair and burying his face in his hands. ‘I am at your mercy.’ ‘My terms are simple. Come with me now to Heckett’s and make him swear not to betray me. I know the plot between you. I am not so easily fooled as you think. Come and do this, and I will place the confession in your hands.’ ‘You swear it?’ ‘I swear it. But you don’t want an oath from an old friend like me, I should think.’ ‘I will do it,’ said Egerton eagerly. ‘Come—come at once. Not a word to Birnie—not a word to any living soul. Come!’ Egerton went out first into the hall. Marston followed, quietly slipping the evening paper into his pocket as he went out. The servant was in the hall. ‘Tell the doctor I’m gone out with my friend,’ said Egerton to the servant; ‘and don’t sit up for me. I’ll let myself in with the key.’ The two men went out, and the servant closed the door after them. ‘What’s up, I wonder?’ said that worthy to himself. ‘Here’s a gent, as don’t give a name, comes in as white as a ghost, and Mister Egerton comes in afterwards as jolly as a sandboy, and presently they goes out, and then it’s the gent as looks as jolly as a sandboy, and Mister Egerton as is as white as a ghost. It’s rum—very rum!’ With which criticism on passing events, the aforesaid observer of countenances went downstairs to the kitchen to finish his disturbed supper and enjoy a quiet half-hour over _Bell’s Life_ before retiring for the night. CHAPTER LXII. A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA. It was one o’clock in the morning when Egerton and Marston reached Heckett’s house. During the journey neither had spoken. Each was busy with his own thoughts. Gurth knocked a certain number of times, and Heckett, lying tossing on the little bed in the back room, knew who was there, for he did not have his door opened at all hours to every one. Lately Egerton had been a constant visitor, for Heckett—too ill now to move—had confided his schemes to him, and entrusted him with the disposal of his secrets, and his effects when he should be dead. Heckett was very ill to-night, and Bess was still sitting up with him. She had been out on business, and had not come back till late. George had watched by the old man all day, and had gone to bed tired out.