crowd which elects to pay higher
rates for the eleven o'clock express from Victoria was struggling like
less exalted people to be on board quickly, he found his man in the
thick of the press.

Fenley had procured a new suit, a Homburg hat, and some baggage. In
fact, it was learned afterwards that he hired a taxi at Charing Cross,
breakfasted at Canterbury, and made his purchases there at leisure,
before driving on to Dover.

He passed between two uniformed policemen with the utmost
self-possession, even pausing there momentarily to give some
instruction to a porter about the disposition of his portmanteaux.
That was a piece of pure bravado, perhaps a final test of his own
highly strung nerves. The men, of course, were not watching him or any
other individual in the hurrying throng. They had a sharp eye for
Furneaux, however, and when he nodded and hurried from his lair one of
them grabbed Fenley by the shoulder.

At that instant a burly German, careless of any one's comfort but
his own, and somewhat irritated by Fenley's halt at the mouth of
the gangway, brushed forward. His weight, and Fenley's quick flinching
from that ominous clutch, loosed the policeman's hold, and the
murderer was free once more for a few fleeting seconds.

The constable pressed on, shoving the other man against the rail.

"Here. I want you," he said, and the quietly spoken words rang in
Fenley's ears as if they had been bellowed through a megaphone. Owing
to his own delay, there was a clear space in front. He took that way
of escape instinctively, though he knew he was doomed, since the
ship's officers would seize him at the policeman's call.

Then he saw Furneaux, whose foot was already on the lower end of the
gangway. That, then, was the end! He was done for now. All that was
left of life was the ghastly progress of the law's ceremonial until
he was brought to the scaffold and hanged amidst a whole nation's
loathing. His eyes met Furneaux's in a glare of deadly malice. Then he
looked into eternity with daring despair, and dived headlong over the
railing into the sea.

That awesome plunge created tremendous excitement among the bystanders
on quay and ship. It was seen by hundreds. Men shouted, women
screamed, not a few fainted. A sailor on the lower deck ran with a
life belt, but Fenley never rose. His body was carried out by the
tide, and was cast ashore some days later at the foot of Shakespeare's
Cliff. Then the poor mortal husk made