When John Lee saw Peter Norcot at his horse\'s head, he was well satisfied. That Norcot was determined he should not have any communication with Cecil Stark, John perceived, but he also knew that while Peter stood beside him here, no harm could befall Grace. To keep the man from returning to his house and his enterprise would answer Lee\'s purpose quite as well as speech with Stark.

"Excellently met," said Norcot. "I\'ve waited long for you. I need not ask if \'Victor\' carried you well. But you\'re growing too busy, John Lee. Now come aside and explain why you are so active in this business. Have a care, young man! You run into considerable danger."

"I don\'t fear you. And you know well enough the reasons that I am busy. You\'ve hatched a piece of damnable knavery, and by God\'s goodness I overheard it. Stark trusts you; you\'ve deceived his honest heart. But I never trusted you. Not one word of your wickedness surprised me."

"Well, plain speaking is good for the soul, my poor John. And any soul-prescription may be worth your attention just now, for, unless you mend your manners, I shall have to be short and sharp with you.

"\'The dreadful reckoning; and men smile no more.\'

You overheard me and my cousin. Was it all clear to you? Were there any gaps? You may as well know exactly what is going to happen since the affair interests you so deeply. Ask what questions you please, but be brief. Poor \'Victor\'! You\'ve made him gallop to-night."

Norcot tethered his horse at a gate; then he entered it and Lee followed him.

"Come into the Manor Woods. I can give you half an hour, no more. After that time our little play begins, and I am to be wedded to Grace Malherb, for better, for worse. You know all that."

"And Cecil Stark?"

"Stark, good soul, will play his part and press a wedding-ring upon my sister\'s finger. Then the light of day serves to show him Sergeant Bradridge and a file of soldiers patiently waiting for his sapient person to convey him back to Prince Town."

"Think better of it. Don\'t blast your own life and that of this man and woman. She will always hate you, as she always has."

"Advice! Well, take some from me. I cannot stop long, but——"

"Stop you shall, Peter Norcot! Not until you\'ve killed me do you return to this knavery."

"I was afraid you\'d take that view. I don\'t want blood on my hands to-day. Even I have my superstitions and sentiments. Consider; if you detain me how things must fall awry. It would be the play of Hamlet without the Dane. Why, my fool cousin might even lose his head and marry \'em, if that was possible! A pretty conceit. She\'ll feel my hand in the dead darkness and think \'tis his. I am dumb and he speaks the answers. He\'ll feel my sister\'s hand and think \'tis hers. Gertrude is dumb, and Grace speaks the answers. But these things cannot be managed without me. I must get back at any cost. My wedding tour is planned. Better live to think of me and my happy bride upon the Continent than perish in this cold dawn. Death is so final."

"\'Tis you shall die, for I will kill you rather than let you return now."

"The possibility of this attitude on your part had occurred to me, John Lee. Unfortunately for yourself, you have never understood me. I am no enemy to any living man. I wish the world well. But I, too, have my life to live, and those who intervene between me and my plans and purposes pay for their blunder. I will tell you something, since we have no witness. It may help you to comprehend me and draw you out of the jaws of death, wherein frankly you stand at this moment. I killed my late uncle, Norman Norcot. I took his gun while he sat in thought, and thrust it under his chin and shot him like a rabbit. Do you wish to follow him?"

Without answering, John Lee dashed forward at Norcot\'s throat; but Peter\'s hand, though in his pocket, was on a pistol trigger. He leapt swiftly aside, and before Lee could turn, the wool-stapler had fired into his body. For a second John stood shaking; then he sank forward and fell on his face. Frightened blackbirds fled shrieking, with shrill chink-chink-chink-chinketty-chink; the smoke arose and hung in a thin flat layer under the boughs of the trees.

"Lucky wretch!" said the murderer, looking down. "\'Death is a morsel best bolted whole,\' as divine Montaigne remarks. Naught is nastier to chew upon. May I go as easy when my turn comes!

"\'Light lay the earth, John Lee, upon thy clay—
That so the............