said. "And—well, I put it to you, for example, supposing that his mouth were closed there would be no fear. Nobody would know into whose pockets the money had gone!"
He nodded, his countenance full of despair.
"It might be believed to have gone into his," he said.
Apparently he did not grasp my true meaning. He, of course, believed me to be the very soul of honour, and the perfect pink of respectability.
"We may suppose many things, d'Escombe," he said, a hard expression showing in the corners of his mouth. "But we can hardly suppose that his lips will be closed," and he sighed, his eyes downcast to the carpet. "No, for three weeks I'll live and enjoy life—and then, well, probably I shall find an easy way out," he added meaningly.
"You can," I said very seriously. "It only wants a little courage."
"Suicide, eh?" he murmured.
"Not at all," I said, and then after a pause, my eyes fixed upon his, I added: "There is a way by which his mouth may be closed."
He looked very keenly at me for a few seconds. His grey brows knit slowly, as
