gh of
that yonder, but mean to take my ease for the future. These chambers
are secluded; a noise here is not likely to be heard, and I should
proceed to extremities if you forced me."

"You dare to threaten me?"

"Yes, I dare to threaten you, my dear sir. But keep cool, I tell you.
I didn't come here to quarrel, but to do a little business. Did you
expect me? I see you have the money ready."

He pointed to the notes--notes to defray a blissful honeymoon trip--and
Stratton had hard work to suppress a groan.

"There, I'm very sorry for you, my dear sir," continued the scoundrel,
"and I want to be friendly, both to you and poor little Myra--good
little soul! She thought me dead; you thought me dead; and I dare say
you love each other like pigeons. Next thing, I admired her, but she
never cared a sou for me. Well, suppose I say that I'll be dead to
oblige you both. What do you say to that?"

Malcolm was silent.

"I never wanted the poor little lass. Frankly, I wanted her money, and
the admiral's too--hang the old rascal, he won about fifty pounds of me.
But to continue. Now, Mr Malcolm Stratton, time is flying, and the
lady will soon be at the church, where you must be first. I tell you
that I will consent to keep under the tombstone where the law and
society have placed me, for a handsome consideration. What do you
propose?"

"To hand you over to the police," said Stratton firmly, but with despair
in his tone.

"No, you do not. You propose to give me the money on the table there,
to sign an agreement to pay me three hundred a year as long as I keep
dead, and then to go and wed your pretty widow, and be off to the
continent or elsewhere."

Bigamy--blackmailed by a scoundrel who would make his life a hell--
through constant threats to claim his wife--a score of such thoughts
flashed through Stratton's brain as he stood there before the cool,
calculating villain watching him so keenly. Money was no object to him.
Mr Brettison would let him have any amount, but it was madness to
think of such a course. There was only one other--to free the innocent,
pure woman he idolised from the persecution of such a wretch, and the
law would enable him to do that.

Malcolm Stratton's mind was made up, and he stood there gazing full in
his visitor's eyes.

"Well," said the man coolly, "time is on the wing, as I said before.
How much is there under that letter weight?"

"One hundred and fifty pounds," said Stra