“Well, he’s gone to where he wanted to send me. Gad, that man did make me see red when I thought of his attempt to put me out of the way. Many a time I’ve half made up my mind to sneak down to Effington and plug him if I got the chance. But a bit of prudence stepped in, fortunately. It wasn’t worth swinging for a fellow like that. And so he came to a bad end, after all. It makes one think a bit, mister, it does.” “It makes you think a bit, eh?” repeated the detective. “And what turn do your thoughts take? The wages of sin is death, or something of that sort?” “You’ve hit it,” said the Colonial, speaking with great seriousness. “I told you my mother was a good woman; she did her best to bring me up religious, but my father always scoffed at her for her pains. How many times have I heard her use that very phrase; it has always stuck in my memory. I thought of her a goodish bit when I was struggling back to life. I began to feel quite sick of the past, and all the evil I had done. But you know, mister, when you’ve once got into the crooked life, it’s precious hard to get out of it. But now I’ve got that bit of money, I’ve made up my mind to go straight.” “I’m exceedingly glad to hear it,” said Grewgus heartily. “Most crooks come to a bad end. Stormont, who was clever and cunning as the devil, took his life at the finish, and most of ’em overreach themselves and get into quod. So I’m making a fresh start. Till I read that in the papers, I was going out to Canada, for fear of Stormont. But now he’s out of the way, I shall stick in the old country. I shall buy a snug little business, a tobacconist’s by preference. Gosh, it will be pleasant to pass a policeman without fearing he’s going to lay his hand on you.” They chatted for a little time longer, and at parting Grewgus offered Newcombe his hand, which the Colonial shook heartily. Since he had now resolved to lead an honest life, the detective felt he was justified in showing him this mark of esteem. He got back to his office about four o’clock and busied himself with his correspondence. In the midst of it, a clerk entered and said that a lady wished to speak with him for a few minutes, but would not give her name. Rather impatiently, for he was very occupied with his letters, he ordered the visitor to be shown in. What was his astonishment when the mysterious lady entered, and he recognized in the dark, handsome young woman who had refused to give her name, Elise Makris, otherwise Mrs. Edwards. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE The handsome young woman addressed the detective with the charm of manner that had no doubt beguiled so many men, notably Hugh Craig and the susceptible Léon Calliard. “I take it from what you told my husband, Bertram Edwards, that you are acquainted with me--at any rate, my appearance. I suppose, Mr. Grewgus, you must have been in Paris at the same time I was there.”