As Burt entered the sick-chamber, he was met by the doctor, who gently forced him outside. “The man is now conscious,” said the physician; “but, as I have already declared, his death is only a matter of a few hours.” “Does he know I am in the house?” “I told him there was an officer here.” “Is he able to converse?” “Oh, yes,” replied the doctor; “I wanted to say to you that I told him there was a slight chance of him recovering.” “I should have told him the truth; it is cruel to deceive him.” The physician colored. “I know my business!” he exclaimed. “I rather doubt that. What is your fee?” The doctor named his fee, and Burt paid it. Then Burt went in to see the “fence.” Monte Murphy was bolstered up in bed with pillows. He immediately recognized his visitor. “Am I going to die?” That was Murphy’s first question. “What did the doctor say?” “That I might recover; but I did not believe him.” “He told you a lie; you have no possible chance,” said Burt. Monte gave a great start. He did not want to die. Who does? For more than fifty years Murphy had led a most wicked life. He had once been married, and it was said of him that he had starved his wife to death. Monte was a firm believer in eternal punishment. It was not the physical torture of death he feared; it was the hereafter. Burt believed it was his bounden duty to tell the sufferer the truth. Murphy used to tell himself that one day or another he would begin a life of repentance. The day never came, and now he stood on the threshold of an after-life. “Oh!” he said, in the most bitter anguish; “I must surely have some little chance!” Burt shook his head, but did not otherwise reply. “Give me some of that.” Monte pointed to a flask upon the mantel. Burt smelled of the flask, and found it contained whisky. He handed it to the wounded man. Monte gulped down a big drink. The liquor gave him false courage. “I won’t die; I feel better already,” he said. “Now, what brings you here?” “I came to recover the property you stole.” “The big diamond?” “Yes.” “Curse the gem! But it is accursed. Had I never seen it, this misfortune would not have come to me!” groaned Murphy. “Where is it?” “I haven’t got it.” “You stole it?” “I don’t deny that; but, in turn, the diamond, and all my other valuables that were in yonder safe, were stolen from me.” “By whom?” “Bull Blair and Tony Riley.” “Which of them stabbed you?” “Neither.” Burt regarded the “fence” with surprise. “You didn’t stab yourself?” “No; an agent of Kidd and Cook ‘done’ me,” replied Monte. “How do you know the party was their agent?” inquired Burt. “I had his word for it.” “Do you mean to say they sent him here to murder you?” “They certainly sent him after the diamond; he could not have known I possessed it unless they told him.” “Who is this man?” “Mike Quick.” Burt emitted a low whistle. Now he knew why Quick had turned pale when he last confronted him. “Mike did not get the diamond?”