He rose in bed, and with a sudden movement flung the other over on his back.  Gunn’s eyes were starting from his head, and he writhed convulsively.

“I thought you were a sharper man, Gunn,” said Rogers, still in the same hot whisper, as he relaxed his grip a little; “you are too simple, you hound!  When you first threatened me I resolved to kill you.  Then you threatened my daughter.  I wish that you had nine lives, that I might take them all.  Keep still!”

He gave a half-glance over his shoulder at the silent figure of the nurse, and put his weight on the twisting figure on the bed.

“You drugged the hag, good Gunn,” he continued.  “To-morrow morning, Gunn, they will find you in your room dead, and if one of the scum you brought into my house be charged with the murder, so much the better.  When I am well they will go.  I am already feeling a little bit stronger, Gunn, as you see, and in a month I hope to be about again.”

He averted his face, and for a time gazed sternly and watchfully at the door.  Then he rose slowly to his feet, and taking the dead man in his arms, bore him slowly and carefully to his room, and laid him a huddled heap on the floor.  Swiftly and noiselessly he put the dead man’s shoes on and turned his pockets inside out, kicked a rug out of place, and put a guinea on the floor.  Then he stole cautiously down stairs and set a small door at the back open.  A dog barked frantically, and he hurried back to his room.  The nurse still slumbered by the fire.

She awoke in the morning shivering with the cold, and being jealous of her reputation, rekindled the fire, and measuring out the dose which the invalid should have taken, threw it away.  On these unconscious preparations for an alibi Captain Rogers gazed through half-closed lids, and then turning his grim face to the wall, waited for the inevitable alarm.