‘I can’t promise,’ he said. ‘There’s others besides myself as ‘as got accounts to reckon with you. I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you a week—a dear week—to put daylight between yourself and the tecs.’ ‘I’ll accept that offer,’ said Marston, quietly. He saw there was nothing better to be got from Heckett that night. In a week much might be done. In the mean time he knew he should hold Egerton safe. Delay was all he wanted now. Given a week, he might yet surmount every obstacle. He rose from the chair by Heckett’s side, and prepared to go. As he did so Heckett beckoned to him. ‘There’s one thing you can do for me,’ he said. ‘I believe as you know what’s become o’ my gal. I ain’t got long to be here now, and I’d like to see my poor Gertie’s gal afore I go. There’s some things o’ her poor mother’s as I’ve kept for many a year as I’d like her to have. If you know where she’s been all these years, maybe you’ll tell her her old grandfather’s dyin’, and he’d die easier if he could see her again, and ask her to forgive him.’ ‘You shall see Gertie if I can find her,’ said Marston eagerly. A new idea had come to him. Gertie might induce the old man to hold his peace for ever. He had almost forgotten that Ruth’s _protégée_ was Heckett’s child. Gurth and Marston bade the old man ‘Good-night,’ and went out into the deserted street. ‘He’s sinking fast,’ said Gurth. ‘Birnie saw him the other day, and says he can’t live a month. Now I’ve kept my promise—keep yours.’ They had walked to the corner of the street. ‘Oh—ah—yes,’ answered Marston, quietly; ‘that confession. I promised it to you when you had silenced Heckett You have only silenced him for a week, and he will live a month. But, my dear fellow, I always like to treat an old friend well. See here——’ He pulled the newspaper out of his pocket and handed it to Gurth. ‘There you are, you see—there is your confession. The original is in the hands of the police. You’re fond of trips to America—I should try another at once if I were you. Good-bye.’ Marston turned on his heel, and walked rapidly away, leaving Gurth Egerton glued to the spot with horror. He read and reread the paragraph by the flickering light of the lamp. At any moment he might be arrested. The clue had been found by Marston. Why should it not be found by others? and then—He dared not think of it. He felt a choking sensation at his throat. He would go back home at once and see Birnie, confide all to him, and take his advice. Birnie was the only friend he had in the world. He would go away again. There was nothing else for it. It seemed as though his wandering feet were to find no rest in this world. He was to be pursued everywhere by the shadow of the rash crime committed in his youth, and buried, as he fondly hoped, for ever. And now the sea had borne witness against him. How had the confession he had made to the clergyman in the hour of imminent death been so miraculously preserved? He could not think.