and pounds would not buy your liberty from me, Major Jones,"
he said.

The man became abject.

"Have pity, then," he pleaded. "My health is not good--I couldn't stand
imprisonment. Think of what it means to a man of my age suddenly to
leave everything worth having in life just because he may have imposed
a little on the generosity of a friend! Think how you would feel, and be
merciful!"

Peter Ruff shook his head slowly. His face was immovable, but there was
a look in his eyes from which the other man shrank.

"Major Jones," he said, "you ask me be merciful. You appeal to my pity.
For such as you I have no pity, nor have I ever shown any mercy. You
know very well, and I know, that when once the hand of the law touches
your shoulder, it will not be only a charge o' blackmail which the
police will bring against you!"

"There is nothing else--nothing else!" he cried. "Take half my fortune,
Mr. Ruff. Let me get away. Give me a chance--just a sporting chance!"

"I wonder," Peter Ruff said, "what chance that poor old lady in Weston
had? No, I am not saying you murdered her. You never had the pluck. Your
confederate did that, and you handled the booty. What were the initials
inside that ring you showed us to-night, Major Jones?"

"Let me go to my bedroom," he said, in a strange, far-away tone. "You
can come with me and stand outside."

Peter Ruff assented.

"To save scandal," he said, "yes!"

Three flights of stairs they climbed. When at last they reached the
door, the trembling man made one last appeal.

"Mr. Ruff," he said, "have a little mercy. Give me an hour's start--just
a chance for my life!"

Peter Ruff pushed him in the door.

"I am not a hard man," he said, "but I keep my mercy for men!"

He took the key from the inside of the door, locked it, and with the key
in his pocket descended to the drawing-room. The young lady who had sat
on Major Jones's right was singing a ballad. Suddenly she paused in the
middle of her song. The four people who were playing bridge looked up.
Mrs. Bognor screamed.

"What was that?" she asked quickly.

"It sounded," Peter Ruff said, "very much like revolver shot."

"I see," Sir Richard remarked, with a queer look in his eyes, as he
handed over a roll of notes to Peter Ruff, "the jury brought it in
'Suicide'! What I can't understand is--"

"Don't try," Peter Ruff interrupted briskly. "It isn't in the bond that
you should understand."

Sir Richard helped himself to a