Cecil drew a little breath and lifted his hand to his forehead.  He was surprised to find it wet.  All the time he was gazing at Forrest with fascinated eyes.

“Look here,” he said, in a hoarse whisper, “we mustn’t talk like this.  Engleton will turn round in a day or two.  People would think, if they heard us, that we were planning a murder.”

“In a woman’s decalogue,” Forrest said, “there is no sin save the sin of being found out.  Why not in ours?  No one ever had such a chance of getting rid of a dangerous enemy.  The whole thing is in our hands.  We could never be found out, never even questioned.  If, by one chance in a thousand, his body is ever recovered, what more natural?  Men have been drowned before on the marshes here many a time.”

“Go on!” Cecil said.  “You have thought this out.  Tell me exactly what you propose.”

“I propose,” Forrest answered, “that we narrow the issues, and that we put them before him in plain English, now—­to-night—­while the courage is still with us.  It must be silence or death.  I tell you frankly how it is with me.  I would as soon press a pistol to my forehead and pull the trigger as have this boy go back into the world and tell his story.  For you, too, it would be ruin.”

Cecil sank back into his chair, and looked with wide-open but unseeing eyes across the table, through the wall beyond.  He saw his future damned by that one unpardonable accusation.  He saw himself sent out into the world penniless, an outcast from all the things in life which made existence tolerable.  He knew very well that Andrew would never forgive.  There was no mercy to be hoped for from him.  There was nothing to be looked for anywhere save disaster, absolute and entire.  He looked across at Forrest, and something in his companion’s face sent a cold shiver through his veins.

“We might go and see what he says,” he faltered.  “I haven’t been there since the morning, have you?”

“No!” Forrest answered.  “Solitude is good for him.  Let us go now, together.”

Without another word they rose from the table.  Cecil led the way into the library, where he rang for a servant.

“Set out the card-table here,” he ordered, “and bring in the whisky and soda.  After that we do not wish to be disturbed.  You understand?”

“Certainly, sir,” the man answered.

They waited until the things were brought.  Afterwards they locked the door.  Cecil went to a drawer and took out a couple of electric torches, one of which he handed to Forrest.  Then he went to the wall, and after a few minutes’ groping, found the spring.  The door swung open, and a rush of unwholesome air streamed into the room.  They made their way silently along the passage until at last they reached the sunken chamber.  Cecil took a key from his pocket and opened the door.

* * *

Engleton was in evil straits, but there was no sign of yielding in his face as he looked up.  He was seated before a small table upon which a common lamp was burning.  His clothes hung about him loosely.  His face was haggard.  A short, unbecoming beard disfigured his face.  He wore no collar or necktie, and his general appearance was altogether dishevelled.  Forrest looked at him critically.