at his real wife was an English woman at Rosario.

He reflected with a sense of disgust that, he and Purvis being both of
them fair men, it might even be said that they resembled each other in
appearance; and he wondered if he would ever hold up his head again now
that he knew that the same blood ran in the veins of both, and that
this murderer, with his bloodstained hands, was his brother.

And what in Heaven's name was the use of rescuing a man from one
difficulty when he would fall into something much worse at the next
opportunity?

Finally, there was nothing for it but to remain inactive and let Purvis
escape if he could, but to do nothing to help him. Time was getting on
now; another half-hour and it would be too late to start.

Perhaps the whole real difficulty resolved itself round Jane. Jane, as
a matter of fact, had taken up her position quite close to Peter
Ogilvie this evening in the dark of the tropical night. There were
probably devils on either side of him, but Jane was certainly there.
She looked perfectly beautiful, and there was not a line in her face
which did not suggest something fair and honest and of good worth.

... But suppose the man turned out to be an impostor after all? Then
Dunbar had better treat with him. The chain of evidence was pretty
strong, but there might be a break in it.

... He could not go alone down the river; Ross and Toffy and Hopwood
would have to come too, to man the four-oared boat, and some one would
have to steer, because the river was dangerous of navigation and full
of sandbanks and holes. Why should he involve his friends in such an
expedition to save a man who had sneaked off from a boat and left a
whole crew to perish, and who had shot in cold blood the men who rowed
him to safety?

_Before God he was not going to touch the man, nor have anything to do
with him!_

Half an hour had passed. In twenty minutes it would be too late to
start.

Jane drew a little nearer, and just then Toffy laid down the book which
he had been reading and strolled about the room. Perhaps he wanted to
show Peter that he was still there and awake, and in some way to
comfort him by his presence, for he sat down by Mrs. Chance's piano and
picked out a tune with one of his fingers.

The devil beside Peter became more imperative and drew up closer, and
told him that it was his own sense of honour that made him loathe his
reputed brother and turn from him in disgust. He said t