He had been foolish, very foolish, as we have seen, on board the Goldfinder,—­and wicked too.  There could be no doubt about that.  When it would all come out in this dreaded trial he would be quite unable to defend himself.  There was enough to enable Mrs. Bolton to point at him with a finger of scorn as a degraded sinner.  And yet,—­yet there had been nothing which he had not dared to own to his wife in the secrecy of their mutual confidence, and which, in secret, she had not been able to condone without a moment’s hesitation.  He had been in love with the woman,—­in love after a fashion.  He had promised to marry her.  He had done worse than that.  And then, when he had found that the passion for gold was strong upon her, he had bought his freedom from her.  The story would be very bad as told in Court, and yet he had told it all to his wife!  She had admitted his excuse when he had spoken of the savageness of his life, of the craving which a man would feel for some feminine society, of her undoubted cleverness, and then of her avarice.  And then when he swore that through it all he had still loved her,—­her, Hester Bolton,—­whom he had but once seen, but whom, having seen, he had never allowed to pass out of his mind, she still believed him, and thought that the holiness of that love had purified him.  She believed him;—­but who else would believe him?  Of course he was most anxious that those people should go.

Before he left London he wrote both to Mr. Seely and to Robert Bolton, saying what he had done.  The letter to his own attorney was long and full.  He gave an account in detail of the whole matter, declaring that he would not allow himself to be hindered from paying a debt which he believed to be due, by the wickedness of those to whom it was owing.  ‘The two things have nothing to do with each other,’ he said, ’and if you choose to throw up my defence, of course you can do so.  I cannot allow myself to be debarred from exercising my own judgment in another matter because you think that what I decide upon doing may not tally with your views as to my defence.’  To Robert Bolton he was much shorter.  ‘I think you ought to know what I have done,’ he said; ’at any rate, I do not choose that you should be left in ignorance.’  Mr. Seely took no notice of the communication, not feeling himself bound to carry out his threat by withdrawing his assistance from his client.  But Robert and William Bolton agreed to have Crinkett’s movements watched by a detective policeman.  They were both determined that if possible Crinkett and the woman should be kept in the country.