“After the two calamities of the loss of the ship and the disappearance of the diamonds—­these last being valued at five thousand pounds—­I returned to England by the first opportunity that offered, having Beljames for a companion.

“Shortly after getting back to my house in London, I was privately warned by a good friend that my owners had decided to prosecute me for willfully casting away the ship, and (crueler still) for having stolen the missing diamonds.  The second mate, who had been in command of the vessel when she struck on the rock, was similarly charged along with me.  Knowing myself to be innocent, I determined, of course, to stand my trial.  My wonder was, what Beljames would do.  Would he follow my example? or, if he got the chance, would he try to make his escape?

“I might have thought it only friendly to give this person a word of warning, if I had known where to find him.  We had separated when the ship reached the port of Falmouth, in Cornwall, and had not met since.  I gave him my address in London; but he gave me no address in return.

“On the voyage home, Beljames told me that a legacy had been left to him; being a small freehold house and garden in St. John’s Wood, London.  His agent, writing to him on the subject, had reported the place to be sadly out of repair, and had advised him to find somebody who would take it off his hands on reasonable terms.  This seemed to point to a likelihood of his being still in London, trying to sell his house.

“While my mind was running on these recollections, I was told that a decent elderly woman wanted to see me.  She proved to be the landlady of the house in which Beljames lodged; and she brought an alarming message.  The man was dying, and desired to see me.  I went to him immediately.

“Few words are best, when one has to write about one’s own troubles.

“Beljames had heard of the intended prosecution.  How he had been made aware of it, death left him no time to tell me.  The miserable wretch had poisoned himself—­whether in terror of standing his trial, or in remorse of conscience, it is not any business of mine to decide.  Most unluckily for me, he first ordered the doctor and the landlady out of the room; and then, when we two were alone, owned that he had purposely altered the course of the ship, and had stolen the diamonds.

“To do him justice, he was eager to save me from suffering for his fault.

“Having eased his mind by confession, he gave me the slip of paper (written in cipher) which you will find inclosed in this.  ‘There is my note of the place where the diamonds are hidden,’ he said.  Among the many ignorant people who know nothing of ciphers, I am one—­and I told him so.  ‘That’s how I keep my secret,’ he said; ’write from my dictation, and you shall know what it means.  Lift me up first.’  As I did it, he rolled his head to and fro, evidently in pain.  But he managed to point to pen, ink, and paper, on a table hard by, on which his doctor had been writing.  I left him for a moment, to pull the table nearer to the bed—­and in that moment he groaned, and cried out for help.  I ran to the room downstairs where the doctor was waiting.  When we got back to him he was in convulsions.  It was all over with Beljames.