nd lies in that quarter," he said. "We have an informer
amongst us. If I had known that before, my good Bentwood,--if I had
known that before!"

Big as he was, Bentwood looked small and mean at that moment.

"You are quite mistaken," he cried. "You are altogether wrong, my dear
Carl. I am as much of a prisoner as any of you. I was taken in fair
fight outside after a desperate struggle. What have I to gain by an
attitude of unreasonable obstinacy?"

"Oh, nothing," Sartoris replied. "But you can make things easy for
yourself by affording the police information. You will probably get off
with ten years. I would fight the thing out to the bitter end and chance
it. But you and I are made of different stuff."

Mark Ventmore, watching the two men, thought so too, but he said
nothing. One was a mere bag of bones, the other a fine figure of a man,
but Mark would have preferred the cripple, who made no sign and showed
no feeling as he tottered to the door, between the policemen. Mary would
have said something to him, but he waved her back.

"Now don't you trouble about me any more," he said. "I shall be safe for
some years to come, the law will see to that. We shall never meet again,
for the simple reason that a physique like mine will not stand the
prison treatment. I shall die there. Good bye."

Mary kept back her tears. She would have felt better if she could have
seen even the slightest trace of remorse in her brother.

"Marry Berrington," he said. "He has been pretty faithful to you and you
will be alone in the world now. You should think yourself lucky with a
man like that to fall back upon. I have to say adieu to the lot of you."

Sartoris was gone at last. In fact the whole lot were packed on the
motor car which the police had sent down at Field's instigation. Being a
cripple, Sartoris had been accommodated in the seat by the driver. With
her eyes heavy with tears, Mary watched them depart. Sartoris was
fatally correct in his prophecy; it was the last time that Mary was
destined to see him. He had always recognised the fact that jail would
be the death of him. He had the germs of a disease in his breast that he
had only kept at bay by constant occupation and mental activity. Mary
never looked upon the face of her brother in the flesh again.

Field turned to Berrington and drew a long breath.

"The atmosphere smells all the sweeter for the loss of that lot," he
said. "My word, this has been an anxious night for m