if I could have stabbed him in the back at that moment I dare say
I would have done it.

I did not see Scudamour again for a long time, for I took care to keep
out of his way; but I heard first from him and then of him. One day he
wrote to me saying that his nephew was going to Bombay, and would I be
so good as to give the youth an introduction to my brother Henry? He
also asked me to dine with him and his nephew. I declined the dinner,
but I sent the nephew the required note of introduction to Henry.
The next I heard of Scudamour was from Pettigrew. "By the way," said
Pettigrew, "Scudamour is in Edinburgh at present." I trembled, for
Edinburgh is where Alexander lives. "What has taken him there?" I
asked, with assumed carelessness. Pettigrew believed it was business;
"but," he added, "Scudamour asked me to tell you that he meant to call
on Alexander, as he was anxious to see Henry's children." A few days
afterward I had a telegram from Alexander, who generally uses this means
of communication when he corresponds with me.

"Do you know a man, Scudamour? Reply," was what Alexander said. I
thought of answering that we had met a man of that name when we were
in Paris; but after consideration, I replied boldly: "Know no one of
name of Scudamour."

About two months ago I passed Scudamour in Regent Street, and he scowled
at me. This I could have borne if there had been no more of Henry; but I
knew that Scudamour was now telling everybody about Henry's wife.

By and by I got a letter from an old friend of Alexander's asking me
if there was any truth in a report that Alexander was going to Bombay.
Soon afterward Alexander wrote to me saying he had been told by several
persons that I was going to Bombay. In short, I saw that the time had
come for killing Henry. So I told Pettigrew that Henry had died of
fever, deeply regretted; and asked him to be sure to tell Scudamour,
who had always been interested in the deceased's welfare. Pettigrew
afterward told me that he had communicated the sad intelligence to
Scudamour. "How did he take it?" I asked. "Well," Pettigrew said,
reluctantly, "he told me that when he was up in Edinburgh he did not get
on well with Alexander. But he expressed great curiosity as to Henry's
children." "Ah," I said, "the children were both drowned in the Forth; a
sad affair--we can't bear to talk of it." I am not likely to see much of
Scudamour again, nor is Alexander. Scudamour now goes about saying that
H