“Let him! As far as I am concerned, he can do nothing. He can’t break down the evidence of all those people in Manchester with whom I spent the night of the murder. You, I admit, haven’t such a watertight alibi, but it is impossible that he can prove you committed a crime of which you are absolutely innocent. And he can’t connect you with Charles. Remember that we’ve no reason to suppose he has the least idea that Charles is alive.” “If he finds that out, he’ll suspect Charles, and then he’ll suspect me as his accomplice.” “I dare say,” Pyke admitted, “but he won’t find out. Poor old Charles! I said to him on that last day . . .” The two moved off again, for Pyke’s voice died down into an unintelligible murmur. Again for some moments French could not distinguish what was said, then the words came more clearly. “No,” Pyke was saying. “I have a better plan than that. To-morrow I’ll call at the Yard to see French and I’ll confess to the murder. I’ll say that my misery through remorse and suspense is worse than anything I could afterwards suffer, and that I just can’t bear it any longer. Lots of murderers have done that and he’ll suspect nothing. He’ll of course arrest me. Admittedly, he may arrest you also. This, of course, I should infinitely regret, but you will agree there is no other way. He’ll then think he has solved his problem and he’ll look no further afield. Before going to the Yard I’ll communicate with Charles and Charles can make his getaway. Then when Charles has had time to get out of the country I shall produce my Manchester witnesses and prove my innocence. The case against you will then break down.” “That’s all right except for two things,” Mrs. Berlyn returned. “If Charles believed he could get out of the country he would have done it long ago. Secondly, why, if you prove your innocence, will the case against me break down?” “Those are easily answered. By the time Charles was well enough to travel suspicion had been aroused and every policeman in the country was on the lookout for the Ashburton murderer. If I confess, the watch at the ports will be relaxed. Besides . . .” Again the words became unintelligible. There was a faint sound of slowly pacing feet and the voice dwindled. But after a short time the footsteps again grew louder. “. . . under the circumstances,” Mrs. Berlyn was saying, “but, of course, if Charles is taken we shall be accused of being his confederates.” “Very possibly. But, Phyllis, what can we do? We know old Charles is innocent, though things look so badly against him. We can’t let him down. We must do what we can to help him and take the risk.” “I know. I know. But isn’t the whole thing just _awful_! What have we done that we should get into such a position? It’s too much!” Her voice, though carefully repressed, was full of suffering, and French could picture her wringing her hands and on the verge of tears. Pyke comforted her, though not at all in the tone of a lover, then went on: