“But after that, if I saw him to his end in peace, if I brought that off, well, then I rather think that I should have stuck to the money.  Yes, I rather think so.”

“You’ve managed to mix things up so!” Mary complained.  “Your devotion to Mr. Saffron—­for that I could forgive you keeping his secret, and fooling me, and all of us.  But then you mix that up with the money!”

“It was mixed up with it.  I didn’t do the mixing.”

“What are you going to do now?” she asked with a sudden curiosity.

“Oh, now?  Now the thing’s all different.  You’ve seen, you know, and even I can’t offer you a partnership in the cash, can I?  If I weren’t an infernally poor conspirator, I should have covered up the Captain’s grave, and made everything neat and tidy before I came to fetch you, because I knew he might go back to the Tower.  On his bad nights he always made me open the grave, and spread out the money, make a show of it, you know.  Then it had to be put back in bags—­the money bags lived in the brown leather bag—­and the grave had to be fastened down.  Altogether it was a good bit of work.  I’d just got it open, and the money spread out, when he turned bad—­a sort of collapse like the one you saw; and I was so busy getting him to bed that I forgot the cursed grave and the money—­just as I forgot to put away the knife-and-fork before you called the first time, and you saw through me!”

“If you’re not a good conspirator, it’s another reason for not conspiring, Mr. Beaumaroy.  I know you conspired for him first of all, but—­”

“Well, he’s safe, he’s at peace.  It can all come out now, and it must.  You know, and you must tell the truth.  I don’t know whether they can put me in prison.  I should hardly think they’d bother, if they get the money all right.  In any case I don’t care much.  Lord, what a lot of people’ll say ‘I told you so—­bad egg, that Beaumaroy!’ No, I don’t care.  My old man’s safe; I’ve won my big game after all, Doctor Mary!”

“I don’t believe you cared about the money really!” she cried.  “That really was a game to you, I think, a trick you liked to play on us respectables!”

He smiled at her confidentially.  “I do like beating the respectables,” he admitted.  Then he looked at his watch.  “I must do what has to be done for the old man.  But it’s late—­hard on one o’clock.  You must be tired—­and it’s a sad job.”

“No, I’ll help you.  I—­I’ve been in hospitals, you know.  Only do go first, and cover up that horrible place, and hide that wretched money before I go into the Tower.  Will you?” She gave a shiver, as her imagination renewed the scene which the Tower held.

“You needn’t come into the Tower at all.  He’s as light as a feather—­I’ve lifted him into bed often.  I can lift him now.  If you really wish to help, will you go up to his room, and get things ready?” As he spoke, he crossed to the sideboard, took up a bedroom candlestick, and lighted it from one that stood on the table.  “And you’ll see about the body being taken to the mortuary, won’t you?  I shall communicate with the Radbolts—­fully; they’ll take charge of the funeral, I suppose.  Well, he won’t know anything about that now, thank God!” There was the slightest tremor in his voice as he spoke.