Therefore, I cannot warn
the others of their danger, but on the other hand I won't give your life
into their hands. For if they knew what I know now, you and Hilliard
would be dead men inside twenty-four hours."

Mr. Coburn spoke simply and with a certain dignity, and Merriman found
himself disposed not only to believe what he had heard, but even to
understand and sympathize with the man in the embarrassing circumstances
in which he found himself. That his difficulties were of his own making
there could be but little doubt, but how far he had put himself in
the power of his associates through deliberate evil-doing, and how far
through mistakes or weakness, there was of course no way of learning.

At the end of an hour's discussion, Mr. Coburn had agreed at all costs
to sever his connection with the syndicate, to emigrate to his brother
in Chile, and to do his utmost to induce his daughter to remain in
England to marry Merriman. On his side, Merriman undertook to hold back
the lodging of information at Scotland Yard for one more week, to enable
the other's arrangements to be carried out.

There being nothing to keep him in Bordeaux, Merriman left for London
that day, and the next evening he was closeted with Hilliard in the
latter's rooms, discussing the affair. Hilliard at first was most
unwilling to postpone their visit to the Yard but he agreed on
Merriman's explaining that he had pledged himself to the delay.

So the days, for Merriman heavily weighted with anxiety and suspense,
began slowly to drag by. His fate and the fate of the girl he loved hung
in the balance, and not the least irksome feature of his position was
his own utter impotence. There was nothing that he could do--no
action which would take him out of himself and ease the tension of his
thoughts. As day succeeded day and the silence remained unbroken, he
became more and more upset. At the end of a week he was almost beside
himself with worry and chagrin, so much so that he gave up attending his
office altogether, and was only restrained from rushing back to Bordeaux
by the knowledge that to force himself once more on Madeleine might be
to destroy, once and for ever, any hopes he might otherwise have had.

It was now four days since the Thursday on which Mr. Coburn had stated
that the meeting of the syndicate was to have been held, and only three
days to the date on which the friends had agreed to tell their story
at Scotland Yard. What if he recei