’He was afraid of me, and never used his secret to force money from me.  Still it was not pleasant.  I did not know but that if I went away he might tell it.  I weighed the matter; ’tis true I thought there might have come a necessity to deal with him; but I would not engage in anything of the sort, without an absolute necessity.  But Doctor Sturk was different—­a bull-headed, conceited fool.  I thought I remembered his face at Newmarket, and changed as it was, I was right, and learned all about him from Irons.  I saw his mind was at work on me, though he could not find me out, and I could not well know what course a man like that might take, or how much he might have seen or remembered.  That was not pleasant either.

’I had taken a whim to marry; there’s no need to mention names; but I supposed I should have met no difficulty with the lady—­relying on my wealth.  Had I married, I should have left the country.

’However, it was not to be.  It might have been well for all had I never thought of it.  For I’m a man who, when he once places an object before him, will not give it up without trying.  I can wait as well as strike, and know what’s to be got by one and t’other.  Well, what I’ve once proposed to myself I don’t forego, and that helped to hold me where I was.

’The nature of the beast, Sturk, and his circumstances were dangerous.  ’Twas necessary for my safety to make away with him.  I tried it by several ways.  I made a quarrel between him and Toole, but somehow it never came to a duel; and a worse one between him and Nutter, but that too failed to come to a fight.  It was to be, Sir, and my time had come.  What I long suspected arrived, and he told me in his own study he knew me, and wanted money.  The money didn’t matter; of that I could spare abundance, though ’tis the nature of such a tax to swell to confiscation.  But the man who gets a sixpence from you on such terms is a tyrant and your master, and I can’t brook slavery.

’I owed the fellow no ill-will; upon my honour, as a gentleman; I forgive him, as I hope he has forgiven me.  It was all fair he should try.  We can’t help our instincts.  There’s something wolfish in us all.  I was vexed at his d——­d folly, though, and sorry to have to put him out of the way.  However, I saw I must be rid of him.

’There was no immediate hurry.  I could afford to wait a little.  I thought he would walk home on the night I met him.  He had gone into town in Colonel Strafford’s carriage.  It returned early in the afternoon without him.  I knew his habits; he dined at Keating’s ordinary at four o’clock; and Mercer, whom he had to speak with, would not see him, on his bill of exchange business, in his counting-house.  Sturk told me so; and he must wait till half-past five at his lodgings.  What he had to say was satisfactory, and I allowed five minutes for that.