room, took off my
clothes and got into bed. I had just put the light out when they called
for me."

Francis was himself again. There was an immense relief, a joy in his
heart. He had never for a single moment blamed Margaret, but he had
never for a single moment forgotten. It was a closed chapter but the
stain was on its pages. It was wonderful to tear it out and scatter the
fragments.

"I remember you at the inquest," he said. "Your name is John Walter."

"Yes, sir."

"Your evidence was very different."

"Yes, sir."

"You kept all this to yourself."

"I did, sir. I thought it best."

"Tell me what has happened since?"

The man looked down at the table.

"I have always been a poor man, sir," he said. "I have had bad luck
whenever I've made a try to start at anything. I thought there seemed a
chance for me here. I went to Sir Timothy and I told him everything."

"Well?"

"Sir Timothy never turned a hair, sir. When I had finished he was very
short with me, almost curt. 'You have behaved like a man of sense,
Walter,' he said. 'How much?' I hesitated for some time. Then I could
see he was getting impatient. I doubled what I had thought of first. 'A
thousand pounds, sir,' I said. Sir Timothy he went to a safe in the
wall and he counted out a thousand pounds in notes, there and then.
He brought them over to me. 'Walter,' he said, 'there is your thousand
pounds. For that sum I understand you promise to keep what you saw to
yourself?' 'Yes, sir,' I agreed. 'Take it, then,' he said, 'but I want
you to understand this. There have been many attempts but no one yet
has ever succeeded in blackmailing me. No one ever will. I give you this
thousand pounds willingly. It is what you have asked for. Never let me
see your face again. If you come to me starving, it will be useless. I
shall not part with another penny.'"

The man's simple way of telling his story, his speech, slow and uneven
on account of his faltering breath, seemed all to add to the dramatic
nature of his disclosure. Francis found himself sitting like a child who
listens to a fairy story.

"And then?" he asked simply.

"I went off with the money," Walter continued, "and I had cruel bad
luck. I put it into a pub. I was robbed a little, I drank a little, my
wife wasn't any good. I lost it all, sir. I found myself destitute. I
went back to Sir Timothy."

"Well?"

The man shifted his feet nervously. He seemed to have come to the
difficult part of his