“He would do it out of revenge—­I put the screws on him too often!” he reflected.  “I must get to my rooms before the police come; all my money is there.  And I must cross the Channel to-night!”

All the past rose before him, and he cursed himself for his blind follies.  He just missed a train at Chiswick station, and in desperation he took a cab to Gunnersbury and caught a Mansion House train.  He got out at St. James’ Park, and pulling his coat collar up he hastened across to Pall Mall.  He chose the shortest cut to Jermyn street, and on the north side of St. James’ Square, in the shadow of the railings, he suddenly encountered the last man he could have wished to meet.

“My God, my uncle!” he cried, staggering back.

“You!” exclaimed Sir Lucius, in a voice half-choked by anger.  “Stop, you can’t go to your rooms—­the police are there.  What do they want with you?”

“You will find out in the morning,” Nevill huskily replied; he reeled against the railings.

“It can’t be much worse—­I know all about your dastardly conduct!” said Sir Lucius.  “Hawker has given me the papers, and I have found poor Mary’s son—­the friend you betrayed.  But there is no time for reproaches, nor could anything I might say add to your punishment.  If you have a spark of conscience or shame left, spare me the further disgrace of reading of your arrest in the papers.  Get out of England—­”

“My money is in my rooms!” gasped Nevill.  “I can’t escape unless you help me!”

Sir Lucius took a handful of notes and gold from his pocket.

“Here are a hundred pounds—­all I have with me,” he said.  “It will be more than sufficient.  Don’t lose a moment!  Go to Dover, and cross by the night boat.  And never let me see you or hear from you again!  I disown you—­you are no nephew of mine!  Do you understand?  You have ruined your life beyond redemption—­you can’t do better than finish it with a bullet!”

Nevill had no words to reply.  He seized the money with a trembling hand, and crammed it into his pocket.  Then he slunk away into the darkness and disappeared.

On the following day a new sensation thrilled the public, and it may be imagined with what surprise Sir Lucius Chesney and Jack Vernon—­who had especial cause to be interested in the revelation—­read the papers.  The story was complete, for Mr. Shadrach, the Jew who managed business for the firm of Benjamin and Company, took fright and made a full confession.  The Globe, after treating at length of the arrest and subsequent suicide of Stephen Foster, continued its account as follows: