usted and worked with behaved like that to me," she
said slowly, "I should kill him."

I nodded my approval of the sentiment. "I daresay it will come to
that," I said; "the only thing is one gets rather tired of being
sentenced to death."

She gave me another long, curious glance out of those dark brown eyes
of hers, and then going out, closed the door behind her.

For an exceedingly busy and agreeable quarter of an hour I occupied
myself with the contents of the tray. There was some very nicely
grilled whiting, a really fresh boiled egg, a jar of honey, and a
large plate of brown bread and butter cut in sturdy slices. Best of
all, on the edge of the tray were a couple of McMurtrie's cigarettes.
Whether he or Sonia was responsible for this last attention I could
not say. I hoped it was Sonia: somehow or other I did not want to be
too much indebted to Dr. McMurtrie.

I finished my meal--finished it in the most complete sense of the
phrase--and then, putting down my tray on the floor, reverently
lighted up. I found that my first essay in smoking on the previous
evening had in no way dulled the freshness of my enjoyment, and for
a few minutes I was content to lie there pleasantly indifferent to
everything except the flavour of the tobacco.

Then my mind began to work. Sonia's questions had once again started a
train of thought which ever since the trial had been running through
my brain with maddening persistence. If I had not killed Marks, who
had? How often had I asked myself that during the past three years,
and how often had I abandoned the problem in utter weariness!
Sometimes, indeed, I had been almost tempted to think the jury must
have been right--that I must have struck the brute on the back of the
head without realizing in my anger what I was doing. Then, when I
remembered how I had left him crouching against the wall, spitting out
curses at me through his cut and bleeding lips, I knew that the idea
was nonsense. The wound which they found in his head must have killed
him instantly. No man who had received a blow like that would ever
speak or move again.

The one thing I felt certain of was that in some mysterious way or
other George was mixed up in the business. It was incredible that
he could have acted as he did at the trial unless he had had some
stronger reason than mere dislike for me. That he did dislike me I
knew well, but my six years' association with him had taught me that
he would never allow