Reginald Davis, the man falsely accused of murder, was dead in the eyes of the law: in a sense, he had nothing further to fear. But at the same time, caution must be observed. The few friends he had were in London; at any time he might run across one or more of them. So, taking another name, he had hidden himself in Manchester, and corresponded secretly with the one of the two sisters he could trust, Caroline Masters. And then, suddenly, the burden had been lifted from his soul. There was a small paragraph in the evening newspapers, afterwards reproduced in the morning ones, which told him that he need not skulk through the world any longer. A man lying under sentence of death for a brutal murder and without hope of reprieve, had confessed to the crime of which Davis had been falsely accused. In the paragraph, which was, of course, essentially the same in all the papers, were a few words of sympathy for the unfortunate Reginald Davis who had stolen into Number 10 Cathcart Square and committed suicide, under a sense of abject terror. The police had carefully investigated the statements of the condemned man, with the result that they found the late Reginald Davis absolutely innocent. The late Reginald Davis, very alive and well, knocked at the door of his sister's flat. She had been apprised of his coming, and greeted him affectionately. She sat him down before a well-cooked supper. He was hungry and ate heartily. She did not disturb him with much conversation till he had finished. "Well, Reggie, that was a bit of luck indeed." She was, of course, alluding to the confession of the real murderer. "Now you are as free as air. You were always a bit of a bad egg, old boy, but never a criminal to that extent." "No, hang it all, I am not particular in a general way, but murder was not in my line," he answered briefly. "It was hard lines to get scot-free of the other things, and then to be suspected of that at the end." He looked at her admiringly. "By Jove! Carrie, you were always the cleverest of the lot of us. That was a brain-wave of yours, walking in and identifying me as the suicide." Mrs Masters smiled appreciatively. "Yes, it came to me in a flash. I read the account in the papers. It struck me I might do something useful. I went up to the court with the tale of a missing brother. I saw the body; the poor creature might have been your twin. Of course, I swore it was you, and gave you a new lease of life." She added severely, "I hope you have taken advantage of what I did, and become a reformed character." Davis spoke very gravely. "Yes, Carrie, I swear to you I have. That shock was the making of me. I have lain very low, worked hard, and put by money." He pulled out an envelope from his breastpocket, and thrust it into her hand; it was full of one-pound notes. "Fifty of the best, old girl, for a little nest-egg. I have not forgotten my best pal, you see."