I sat down before the fire and thought hard for some minutes. The paper was crunched up in my hand. Suddenly the door opened. I turned my head at the sound of the creak, but could see no one. What could have opened the door? I heard the sound of caught breath, a foot on the door and a sigh. In a flash I understood. I had been seen by my enemies picking up the letter in the street, and they had sent their invisible messenger to win it from me. Quick as thought I thrust the paper in the flames and sprang afoot. There followed a deep-voiced oath and a rush of air fanned my face. I struck out with all my strength right and left, half beside myself with rage and fear. But my blows encountered nothing tangible, and a second later the door banged shut. I was so unnerved that I simply walked over and locked it. How can a man fight with an enemy he cannot see? or even follow him? When my hands stopped shaking I began to pack up my trunks. I resolved to follow Miss Ottley's bidding to the letter. To-morrow I would announce my departure for Egypt and cross the Channel in order to put Belleville off the track. Meanwhile I ransacked my wardrobe. Presently I received a shock. From an unremembered corner in a chest I brought out the clothes I had worn on the day of poor Weldon's death. They were covered with dyed bloodstains, the blood of my dead friend. I placed them on the table and eyed them, shuddering. My mind, as if spell-compelled, reviewed all the details of Weldon's death. I saw him stagger back, back, and fall beneath the wheels of the onrushing locomotive. I heard his dying shriek. Once more I struggled desperately, but alas! how vainly with the dark angel, for his life. Once more, as the end approached, I saw his glazed eyes open and look into mine. Once more I heard his dying words--"Give me your hand!"
And but--God in Heaven! How could I ever have forgotten it! Had he not given me something--something I had put in my pocket half unconsciously without looking to see what it was--something he had implored me to "keep safe."
I felt my senses rock at the recollection; and then I went hot all over with shame, to think of my neglect, my inattention. Until that moment--despite his dying direction, I had utterly forgotten his sad trust. And the thing he had given me to keep--where was it now? Where, indeed, but in the pocket of that coat where I had placed it. Oh! It was safe enough, no doubt--but that did not absolve me. For weeks I had been a recreant trustee. I had, I saw it now, I had been a coward. I felt his death so much that I had resolutely put all thoughts of him aside, smothered them with work, fearing the misery which they must bring. And I had been his friend!
